I was hooked up to the electric double breast pump.  The baby was hungry.  And tired.  And screaming.  My eldest, then 4, was expertly directing his 2-year-old sister on which socks to flush down the toilet. My voice was hoarse from yelling at them to stop -- but my recently c-sectioned abdomen was hurting just a bit more than would permit me to detach from the milking machine to rescue the purple-polka-dot Baby Gap pair.