there are few things in this world that i hate more than pumping.  1. al queda, 2. satan, 3. pumping at work. (in no particular order)  since jman was a NICU baby, the nurses at las palmas were lazy, and he was born over christmas so there wasn’t a lactation consultant available to me he never learned to get the milk straight from the source.  i had to pump every.bottle.for.him.for.6 months.  ok, it was actually 5 and 3/4 months and then my milk ran dry.  i hated every single minute that i spent pumping, but i love my son.  heart trumps the industrial grade farm equipment. 

i swore to jerry, the nurses, my ob, strangers, and anyone that would listen that i would strap myself to the hospital doors, but that i was not leaving the hospital after c’s birth without her having a latch.  when she was born and had to go to the NICU, i knew she would be fine.  i had a lump of dread in my belly though that came from my thought that she may not ever take the milkjug.  when i got to the recovery room i started crying.  part was from the anesthesia hangover.  the other part was because i was devastated that i might have to pump again.  the nurse (a frumpy gnome looking gal with a warm face) came over and started reassuring me.  “your daughter will be great.  your daughter is healthy.” etc.  i didn’t know how to tell her “i’m not crying because she is in the NICU! i am crying because i have to milk myself like a cow again! it’s just.  just.  not. natural!!!” so, i just let the little elfin nurse comfort me and kept my damn mouth shut. 

when i got to the postpartum room i immediately asked for a pump. i wanted to just get it over with.  i had accepted my lot in life and was prepared to get my girl the good stuff.  thankfully, i only had to pump 2x  in the hospital.  all the rest of her meals she dined at the boob cafe.  im pretty sure i have only pumped 3x since i came home from the hospital too.  as a matter of fact, my pump ended up in the pile of kids toys.  jack likes to turn it off and on.  it’s a lot less aggressive than the vacuum cleaner, but still he gets to play with the suck. 

so here i sit at work.  i should be making phone calls to schedule appointments, but i am typing on my blog.  i mean, really.  would you schedule an appointment with a person who sounded like they were milking a cow in the background?  actually it sounds like a milk cow that’s in pain being milked.  even better.  would you schedule an appointment with a financial advisor who was milking a cow and beating it at the same time?  i know i wouldn’t.  and if asked by a client, i wouldnt dare say “oh no, i am just milking myself, not a cow.”  i’d just have to tell folks to go ahead and call peta.

done.  back to work.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Jill Becker
    Jul 18, 2011 @ 20:33:21

    I really am about to go read your entire blog! I find that 1. Im dying laughing and 2. I feel the same way on the few I’ve read so far! Its nice to know there is someone else out there that has to deal with all the same things AND has the same view. I felt like I did the baby thing on my own, I didn’t have any friends who were going through it at the same time. Its nice to look back at the little baby stage you are going through and I can totally relate the Jman. Keep up the good work! Heck turn it into a book, I would buy it! 🙂

    P.S. Id love to chat sometime and catch up!


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