Our broken-off trip last week meant that we had several days of staycation in our apartment, which in turn meant that we did some cycling of baby clothes and other gear. The change of seasons, plus passing the eighteen-month mark, has meant that we’ve turned over a lot of clothes and bedding, and it’s being sorted for handing-down, thrift-store donations, and the rag bin. We find ourselves being picky about what we offer to other people: nothing stained or chewed or otherwise well-thumbed. Most of our friends were similarly considerate when they gave stuff to us. The (very few) less-than-appealing items that showed up on our doorstep were either scrubbed or quietly disposed of, and that was that.
But there’s one awkward object that we cannot figure out: the breast pump. Used daily for nine months, from my wife’s first day back at work to the day she weaned our son* at one year. It was expensive when new; it looks fine; it works perfectly; she kept it spotless. And all the books and Websites tell you not to sell it or give it away, because the internal parts cannot be sterilized. It’s supposed to be used by just one mother.
There appear to be donate-your-pump-to-a-needy-mom sites that flout the rules and, I guess, take a calculated risk: that the potential benefits of breast milk mysteriously outweigh the potential risks of the lightly sourced hand-me-down pump. I also wonder just how infectious a pump could really be after it’s been sitting, bone-dry and unused, for months.
Anyone got any better ideas? We could use the closet space.
*Addendum, 4 p.m.: My wife asks that I tell the DadWagon audience that our son was not weaned immediately after she stopped pumping, and that she wants full credit for 15.5 months of hardcore nursing. Gladly given.