At any American airport, going through security with a baby bottle feels very high-tech.
"Ma'am, I'm going to need to test your baby's milk to make sure it's safe," says the tall, strong, very serious looking man working security.
He puts it in an in tense machine and waves it with a magic wand. When he hands it back to you and says, "It's safe," you've never felt more sure that what your baby is drinking truly is "safe" (whatever that means).
On the way home from South America it was--let's just say--not as high-tech. Through security, nobody said a thing about the bottle. But when we went to get on the plane, the man taking our tickets decided it was his responsibility to make sure the milk was safe.
"I need to you drink out of the bottle," he said as he looked me in the eye.
I was sure that maybe there was something lost in translation. To make it easier, I repeated back to him in Spanish, "You want me to drink the bottle."
"Yes," he said as I realized he had to be serious. And that there wasn't a problem with the translation--this was real.
I drank out of Ruby's bottle, and the man nodded for us to get on the plane.
I guess this time I really knew first hand the milk was safe.
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