Today I admit to feeling guilty for having a dwindling milk supply. Yes, I am considering/currently working on an attempt at relactation. No the word is not found in most dictionaries. Yes, it means relactating. I actually have gone from feeling incredibly tied down for having to breastfeed to wishing that Baby could survive on my milk alone. Now I do realize that this is probably pretty normal, but I wonder: Does everyone see their breast pump as their pimp? If you're thinking that I’m crazy please know that the following explanation will not help to quell those thoughts. In an effort to speed up pumping at work one day (you try greeting someone at your restaurant, bussing a few tables, getting your butt chewed by a customer, hosting a wine tasting and yep, squeezing some time in to pump some dinner for the child) I thought I’d crank up the ol’ Medela Electric Pump to full speed. This does mean that I have to withstand full vacuum and pump per minute capacity, but there was a customer waiting to complain that we didn’t have enough gluten-free options on our menu. Now I know that the perfect pumping situation does not involve dragging a chair from the café dining room and propping your pump on top of a trash can in the employee restroom. Instead, try to have some soothing music, a small snack, water to keep you hydrated, and a picture of your baby to encourage let down. I have to settle for “yo quiero Jesus” in grafitti on the paper towel dispenser. Concentrate, the milk will come. Just as I begin to get a good flow, I hear my pump speaking to me. “You’re my ‘ho, you’re my ‘ho, you’re my ‘ho.” The rhythm of the pump at full throttle is actually a man in that tacky Halloween costume version of a Hollywood Pimp telling me that my milk is his. Can this really be happening? How could something so wonderful make me feel so ashamed? When I explained this to BabbyDaddy he suggested that I try to imagine the pump saying something positive and encouraging (this after listening to the pump and laughing hysterically at the fact that I was right on about what I was hearing.) But try as I may, I cannot quiet the Boss. Still, I pump as much as someone, anyone, working as much as I do can so that baby doesn’t have to grunt to poop everyday and I can still fight the first of many separations from my child. Next up: the benefits of fenugreek and licorice tea at the astonishing rate of 5 cups a day. What’s my motivation? Please see above photo.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Breastpump as Pimp
Today I admit to feeling guilty for having a dwindling milk supply. Yes, I am considering/currently working on an attempt at relactation. No the word is not found in most dictionaries. Yes, it means relactating. I actually have gone from feeling incredibly tied down for having to breastfeed to wishing that Baby could survive on my milk alone. Now I do realize that this is probably pretty normal, but I wonder: Does everyone see their breast pump as their pimp? If you're thinking that I’m crazy please know that the following explanation will not help to quell those thoughts. In an effort to speed up pumping at work one day (you try greeting someone at your restaurant, bussing a few tables, getting your butt chewed by a customer, hosting a wine tasting and yep, squeezing some time in to pump some dinner for the child) I thought I’d crank up the ol’ Medela Electric Pump to full speed. This does mean that I have to withstand full vacuum and pump per minute capacity, but there was a customer waiting to complain that we didn’t have enough gluten-free options on our menu. Now I know that the perfect pumping situation does not involve dragging a chair from the café dining room and propping your pump on top of a trash can in the employee restroom. Instead, try to have some soothing music, a small snack, water to keep you hydrated, and a picture of your baby to encourage let down. I have to settle for “yo quiero Jesus” in grafitti on the paper towel dispenser. Concentrate, the milk will come. Just as I begin to get a good flow, I hear my pump speaking to me. “You’re my ‘ho, you’re my ‘ho, you’re my ‘ho.” The rhythm of the pump at full throttle is actually a man in that tacky Halloween costume version of a Hollywood Pimp telling me that my milk is his. Can this really be happening? How could something so wonderful make me feel so ashamed? When I explained this to BabbyDaddy he suggested that I try to imagine the pump saying something positive and encouraging (this after listening to the pump and laughing hysterically at the fact that I was right on about what I was hearing.) But try as I may, I cannot quiet the Boss. Still, I pump as much as someone, anyone, working as much as I do can so that baby doesn’t have to grunt to poop everyday and I can still fight the first of many separations from my child. Next up: the benefits of fenugreek and licorice tea at the astonishing rate of 5 cups a day. What’s my motivation? Please see above photo.
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