I think my breast pump is trying to tell me something. The sound it makes as it rhythmically expresses mommy's milk for Z is something akin to "WHACK-o, WHACK-o, WHACK-o." The cadence of the message depends on the setting, so, when I adjust the pump to a faster setting, it sounds like a hoarse Marilyn Monroe on crack calling me crazy. It's true enough these days; I mean, really, why else would I voluntarily relocate to Tallahassee (a solid 7-hour drive from Fort Myers...) for 9 weeks, with my 3-month-old baby, away from my love and my beautiful home, to work a ridiculous schedule at the Capitol and be a full-time single mom? Clearly the breast pump is right.