The Breast Pump Leavin’ Blues

Breast Pumps are a vital part of motherhood. Well, if you’re nursing, that is. The simple fact of the matter is that you just can’t be with your baby 24/7, and sometimes you need relief. And you need to keep up your supply. You have to trick your body into thinking the baby is still being fed when they are not physically with you. This is especially true when you go back to work (as I now am two days a week, and soon will be full time-sad).

Breast pumps are ingenious little contraptions that make me feel like a dairy cow when I use them. I got really close to my Medela when Gillian was in the NICU, since as a preemie she especially needed the superhuman/superfood/nectar of the Gods that is breast milk. At first it felt ridiculous. I was being MILKED. How weird. But, then again, being a mammal and all, it goes with the territory (kind of). Most of the women I know who breastfeed have a stash of breast milk in their freezer that could feed a small country, but you become too paranoid to part with it (what if I have a drop in supply? what if I need to be on antibiotics? what if??).

So, you must have a baby or breast pump to nurse or risk engorgement, which is an extremely unpleasant sensation.

It’s Monday today. I was awakened by G. wanting to eat at 4:30. She ate. “Good timing”, I thought, and was able to get up and start my morning a little after 5, which allowed me to leave on time for once. It is a little trickier when she wakes up later, but being a little late isn’t a big deal. I left right at 6. I was feelin’ fine. No, I felt better than fine. I could get to work early and take care of a few things (one of which is finishing something for my research advisor, with whom I am meeting this afternoon). As I settled in to my book in the nice warm train car, feelin’ better than fine, I was thinking, “what a smooth Monday morning!” Until I got to Granville. ARG!! I realized I had forgotten my mechanical baby surrogate at home!!! ARRRRRRRGGG!! Well, Sean couldn’t bail me out this time and drag the baby downtown to being it to me (as he had with my work laptop twice before-have I mentioned what a GOOD man he is?). So, at Thorndale, I got off the train, got one the next train back north to Morse and made the trek back home to get my more than vital breast pump. We’ll call her Stella. Stella was there waiting for me, like a faithful old dog. And I wasted 40 minutes being a flake. So much for my smooth Monday morning.