Mother's milk
A comment a while back by Liz on motherhood shortly after her introduction to this "job" came back to haunt me after cleaning some stuff for my grand niece who has been staying with us for a few days whilst her parents are on a short holiday break. Memories I'd shelved away in some of my recess came to home to roost and I just felt comfortable posting here as a blog as opposed to the forum thread following Liz's comment.
In the early stages of motherhood when I was contemplating returning back to work, I had to work out how feeding my little one would amount to. Those of you that have danced this route will probably have your own stories to share no doubt.
Anyway, you'd think I was a pack of mule the way I headed back to work after my maternity leave. I would sling an electric breast pump in a backpack over my shoulder, lift my baby in the two-ton car seat, grab a pack of diapers, clutch my bag under my arm and match off to daycare before going on to work.
The electric pump would whirl in my office attached to my breasts by vacuum seal. By leaning the bottles against an arm, I managed to return phone calls, while my nipples - engorged like champagne corks - moved back and forth like pistons.
The first time I heard the sould of the key turning in the lock, I crouched below the computer monitor, machine still blasting, shoulders bare and face flushed. It was my manager in search of office supplies.
"I'm so sorry," she said, bowing out the door.
Eventually I managed to streamline the process to 20 mintues, three times a day. I'd wash my hands with cleanser (a habit I'd picked up from my nursing days!), set up apparatus, pump both sides simultaneously, store the milk bottles in a cooler under my desk, and then clean the collection system.
A wedding once forced me to take the whole operation on the road. I brought only the essentials: nappies (diapers), strollers, toys, clothes, baby and a small manual breast pump. (Isn't amazing how such a small person can suddenly have so much luggage to rival a grown up?) On the way to the to the wedding, we dropped off our infant with a friend, before driving another hour to the church. Between the ceremony and the reception, my husband or should I say ex husband now, parked the car on a quiet street.
I assembled the manual pump and shimmied out of the top of my dress, before my nipples leaked. After pushing the plastic device stuck to my boob back and forth for some time, I got tired so my ex-husband took over operating the pump for me, bonding us for that duration - should've been life, but hey you can't have everything sometimes!
I look back on that season as the Autumn I Pumped. Eventually, I packed up the device for the last time and donated it to charity. Decided returning to full time work was not an option for me and instead nursed my baby peacefully at home. Eventually I was able to return to work flexible hours fortunately also getting a job nearer my house that conveniently enabled me to return home to nurse my little at lunchtime. breast feeding is not for wimps, and pumping is not for wussies!
Now that I look at my grand niece's bottles etc..., I remember with awe all the effort and devotion I put into pumping and breastfeeding my own kids. I miss the way they would stay still in my arms and their quiet satisfaction while nursing, leaving me free to appreciate every inch of their warm cuddly bodies: and the contentment in their eyes. Bliss!
But feeling like a pack mule, and a dairy cow while pumping, I'll never miss that. I guess each person has to find and do what they feel comfortable with in their approach to motherhood - there is no right or wrong way as we are all just learning the ropes most of the time.