Pump It Up!

Spill milk from a carton: repour. Voila!

Spill pumped milk from it’s supernatural tear in the breast milk storage bag that was cushioned and protected like a corpse in a casket: cry. shlump over in agony. hope like hell there’s an at least an ounce that’s salvageable. mourn when hope is dashed. clamp hair in hands and quietly repeat “no, no, no” while scrunching eyes and shaking head. hope milk decides to miraculously let down again minutes after pumping session yielded only 5 ounces, but hey, it was gold. Instinctively smell the contents of pump bag to determine imminent sour milk odor damage. look around cubicle to make sure no one saw you smell the bag. dreadfully recall that you only have 3.5 frozen bags of pumped milk at home. swear off Gerber’s cheap breast milk storage bags in favor of the peace of mind that comes with Lansinoh’s double zipper kind. belabor the fact that you took 15 perfectly good minutes out of your hectic work day to travel 4 floors and traverse across the building to hook yourself to a milking machine. Vividly recall how, 10 minutes prior, you proudly said (literally outloud to yourself in the mirror as you washed the bottles in the public restroom) “Nursing and pumping is the coolest thing I’ve ever done next to birthing my baby”. feel stupid for a few moments. lackadaisically wipe some noticeable milk drips from your desk before non-breastfeeding-friendly cubie-mate returns. resist strange urge to lick some of it up in some wild effort to at least feel like it wasn’t completely and “udderly” wasted. chastise self for weird urge. breathe deeply. unpack bag contents so that milk can be sopped up with the extra handful of scratchy cafeteria napkins you fatefully stashed in bag before pumping session. toss half-assed cleaned parts back into bag while squatting in stilettos and pitifully resting head in palms. regain composure. tell returned non-breastfeeding-friendly cubie-mate about incident when she asks what’s up. give quick advocacy shpeil when she apathetically questions “when are you gonna stop doing that anyways?”. stare at her with tired, tired eyes when she quickly changes subject. return to work. replay above drama in head on the way to pick up child. think about the phrase “crying over spilled milk”. try to remember if there’s a song about it. decide there should be and start thinking of lyrics and beat and style and who the hell could make a hit out of it. decide throaty, folky Jewel could probably make it work. or angry Alanis. remember that Jewel has bigger boobs which would most likely make the song sell better for obvious and non-obvious reasons. pick up hungry child and immediately nurse her at sitter’s house in vain attempt to forgot “the incident”. revisit “the incident” the entire time you are nursing. feign a smile. bestow silent blessings on all breastfeeding and pumping mothers of the world. put tired child to bed upon returning home. go about normal evening routine. tell husband working on laptop spilled milk sob story. appreciate his look of concern and understanding when he says “that sucks”. realize he really is concerned, but probably not for obvious reasons. discover it’s probably because he thinks you should be more careful. nod at admission and decide to forget about it for obvious reasons. open freezer to stare blankly at measly 3.5 bags of pumped milk left. imagine 5 ounces sitting pretty in cheap Gerber bag next to them. close freezer door. terrorize yourself by repeating cycle two more times in true OCD manner. pull homemade cookie dough crammed with dark chocolate chips, whole wheat flour, and raw cane sugar (i.e. attempt at ‘healthier cookies’) from fridge. find a comfy leather seat in front of TIVO’d American Idol episode. critique contestants, fashion, and judges’ choices. eat healthier cookie dough by fingertipfulls. breathe. resume pumping tomorrow…carefully.

**Added after initial post** adorable, concerned pro-breastfeeding hubby decided I got the “Finally Funny” award after reading this post. Gave a combo wink/kiss from across the room at hubby after proclamation. Reference previous blog for more insight.


3 Comments Add yours

  1. Anonymous says:

    This is the funniest thing I have ever read. How did you ever recount all of these thoughts and actions to get it in writing. You are so so silly! I love silly. You are such a regurgitator! That’s good. You think – you say – you do – then you start regurgitating – you bring all of it back – you walk backwards in your memory and revisit it. It is hilarious! You are such a funny puker! Anon.

  2. Anonymous says:

    No one knows how special that liquid gold is until you’ve worked so hard and stretched those nipples out 7 or 8 times a day until they look like smoky-link sausages 🙂
    And there is no prouder moment then to be able to look into the freezer and see tons of little bags of all of your hard work.
    Congratulations to you and all your hard work! Keep it up! And those last six months goes by much faster than the first six!

  3. Phoenixdoula says:

    oh, I feel your pain. I am trying and trying and trying to get enough milk to leave Julianna for the day on SAturday to go to the birth conference. I think I might have ten ounces now, and that just is not going to cut it for twelve hours. Wish me luck tonight and tomorrow.

    I agree with Jason – that was funny.

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