My Friend the Pump

Let me just start by stating that I truly do love breastfeeding Gabs for many reasons:

1. Breast is best - yes, it is true. I am by no means a nipple nazi (no offense to those who are - aside from the really AWFUL one at the hospital where I delivered!), but I love being able to say that I am giving my baby the best start in life by breastfeeding.

2. It is free. Have you seen how expensive formula is? Holy Cow. Let's just say that those formula company executives must live in pretty fine gated communities with marbled walls and golden toilets a la Saddam.

3. I can do it anywhere. At first, I was quite intimidated to breastfeed in public. Then I got over it. I can now proudly claim to have breastfed everywhere from the aisles of Home Depot to countless restaurants to the Utah Arts Festival.

4. No messy bottles to make or clean. Aside from the ones that get filled with the milk I pump devotedly Monday through Thursday at work.

Which brings me to this post. Pumping is pretty much the only thing I truly resent about breastfeeding. Well, that and the occassional bite from a babe startled as her father bursts into the room to announce that the stupid Jazz are losing YET AGAIN, thus awaking said baby from the lull of a near-sleep-boob-in-mouth-state.

Where was I? Ahh yes...pumping. Mom, I cannot thank you enough for buying my pump because God knows I needed it once my milk came in and many times since. But, truth be told I truly dislike pumping. Not the machine so much, because you picked a top-of-the-line model that is cleverly disguised as a backpack and can pump both breasts at once. No, my beef here is with pumping in general.

As a working mother, I knew that I would have to pump if I chose the breastfeeding route for Gabs. But it is an awkward, sometimes messy experience, not to mention inconvenient. I just love how my clever co-workers (i.e. the network guys) so enjoy knocking on my locked door or even worse - jiggling their master keys in the lock - when they know damn well what I am doing in here. And I can't tell you how many times I have anxiously spirited myself away from work only to realize blocks later that I have left the precious breastmilk in the fridge and must begrudgingly return. Or the times that somebody makes a snide remark like "You are still doing THAT????" horrifically as if I am pumping milk for a 16 year old rather than a 10 month old.

I know that I shouldn't be complaining here. I mean I do this for my daughter whom I love with all of my heart, therefore it is by choice that I pump. And in all fairness, it isn't all that bad compared to other duties us mothers face. I would much rather face the pump then a Code Brown blow-out anyday (and I am sure Gabs would agree!). Sure, the time spent pumping can be boring, but maybe I am looking at this process in the wrong light. Lugging my breastpump with me to and from work surely helps burn calories. And, pumping does give me a great excuse to close my office door and hide away from the world a few times a day...maybe it isn't that bad afterall? Nah. It is.