Milking It

This blog is not intended to be solely about breastfeeding, but that's what is happening in my life right now so that's what I'm going to talk about. If you're not interested in the goings on of my boobs, I would skip to the next blog post.

Guys, you won't believe what I'm doing right now. It's something that I said I would NEVER EVER EVER  do again, no matter what. I swore up and down that it wasn't going to happen, no way no how. But here I sit, in this chair....pumping (the boobs, not iron). For a little background, I started pumping the day after the girls were born. I pumped every single day, many times a day, for eleven months.

Eleven.


Months.



I'm just giving that a minute to sink in.


In the beginning I would feed both of them, then pump for 20 minutes. Do you know how often you feed newborns? Like 10 times a day. So that means I fed each baby ten times a day, and then pumped. Ten times a day. The lactation consultants terrified me about not having enough milk for two babies, and I was NOT going to fail on this one. So I pumped. A few months down the road we figured out that the girls both had a tongue tie and my supply was going down, so eventually I pumped and fed the milk to them in bottles. It was terribly time consuming and often very inconvenient. My few minutes of rest time were spent hooked up to a machine that makes my nipples look like turtle heads poking in and out of their shells. Many, many times a baby cried out for me and I had to unhook myself and run down the hall leaving a milk trail behind me. It was terribly not fun, but it's what I had to do. What I chose to do.

And here I am again. I'm looking at Medela Pump In Style, and I'm realizing that it is no longer my enemy. It never was really, but I loathed it completely. That stupid little black bag that all zipped up looks pretty harmless. A tote bag? What are you toting around? Library books? Your groceries? Some fresh scones? 

Oh, this? No. It's a torture device that sucks the milk out of me.

Medela Pump In Style, you are, more accurately, my frenemy. You help me to feed my baby, how helpful! You help to keep my milk supply up, what a delight! But I wish I didn't have to use you, ever. I wish I wasn't going to see you 5 times a day for the next few months (possibly ten...). You remind me of what I wanted to do, so badly, and couldn't. You remind me that once again, feeding my baby isn't going as planned. But Medela Pump In Style, it's not your fault. You're just here to help. And I appreciate that.  I'm going to make a real effort to not hate you so much.

You see folks, feeding Baby Jude has been a struggle. At first it was awesome, but from allergies to reflux to my overactive letdown which literally drowns the kid in milk, it's been one struggle after another. Jude has, quite frankly, had enough. My lactation consultants and doctors visits have basically confirmed the fact that it's not Jude, it's me. It just comes out too fast and he can't handle it. It hurts his tummy, gives him gas, aggravates his reflux, and makes him upset. There is nothing worse than a baby crying and pushing away from your breast. Absolutely nothing worse. But I know that he isn't rejecting me, he is just rejecting the raging river of milk forcing its way down his throat. He would prefer a bottle please, preferably something a little less...aggressive. And that's okay, because he is my baby and I am going to listen carefully to what he needs, not to what I want.

So Medela Pump In Style, I'm sorry for wanting to throw you off of a building or for saying that I was going to break you apart with a sledgehammer. The truth is, I need you. I needed you two years ago and I need you now.

Truce?