So...Pumping

To the staggering news that Phoebe is almost an entire year old, I also add that I continue to nurse her. I am so proud of that! I struggled with Caetlin, for a variety of reasons, and I was hopeful of it being easier this time.

Caetlin essentially stopped nursing from me when I went back to work when she was 12 weeks old; I pumped for another three months or so, but I nearly made myself crazy in the process. I couldn't seem to make enough milk pumping, no matter how often I pumped, no matter what I ate or drank, no matter what I tried. I at some points was pumping something crazy like 8 times a day. During a work day. In a place where I had to leave my office to go to a different office to pump (because I had a glass door that didn't lock or even latch). Can we say completely unproductive, of either work or milk?

And I agonized over stopping. I really thought I was a bad mom for considering it, for hating pumping so much, for falling short of my goal of 12 months. Even though I was only making maybe 40% of her daily nutritional needs of milk (the rest was formula), I felt like I would be depriving her of something significant by stopping, something she needed that only I could provide. I'm sure there was more than a little insecurity there over having gone back to work, over not feeling like I was around her enough to truly parent her. And too- I think most new moms (maybe new dads too, though I can only speak for the female half) go crazy for awhile. Like, certifiable. Worrying over the smallest things that mean, in the grand scheme of things, absolutely nothing. There is a sense of perspective that comes with time, that perfectly well-adjusted adults might have in every other aspect of their lives, that goes out the window when faced with one's first child. And I think that perspective only comes back gradually. I am sure that I still don't have the sense of proportion that I need regarding Caetlin, but I'm better about it than I used to be. And I'm miles more relaxed with Phoebe.

When Caetlin was 6 months old, she had her first seizure. I randomly had her in daycare that day, instead of with her nanny, and happened to actually be there when it happened. It was the most frightening thing I've ever seen- this tiny baby convulsing, with blue lips and staring eyes. She turned out to have pneumonia and a penchant for seizures when she has a fever. For weeks, I had been pissing and moaning in my journal about pumping and breastfeeding and how can I be a good mom if I stop and how is this impacting my work and I want to do right by the baby and on and on and oh my God STOP THE NAVEL GAZING. The seizure and the hours in the ER gave me a good healthy dose of that perspective I had been missing, and I quit pumping that very day.

So, with all that background, I will say that I was determined to try a little more intelligently with Phoebe. I would give it a good shot, spend a little time getting established at the beginning, and if it didn't work, it didn't work. Luckily, it did work, and here we are, nearly a year later.

And I am SO OVER pumping.

I nurse Phoebe first thing in the morning and right before I go to bed every evening. Otherwise, I pump, because she's so distractable and I prefer not to have her leaving my boobs hanging out in public when she decides to crawl away from me mid-feed. I pump on the weekends, for this reason, not just during the week when I'm at work. I'm down to pumping twice a day, which is a recent development, down from three times a day. And I'm so over it. So, so tired of the pump parts and making sure they are washed when I need them. Of lugging the bag around. It's not heavy, but then again, it kind of is, weighing me down with more than just its mass. I'm sick of the lost productivity, how it seems like every time I really start to focus on something at work, I realize it's time to pump. And while I love all the time I spend with my beloved internet, some days I really do need to get work done. I'm tired of the bottles, the fretting over supply, the physical challenge of getting half naked twice a day, in my office during the week and where ever I happen to be during the weekend (yes, I have pumped in the car, and no, I'm pretty sure no one noticed).

Most of all, I'm ready to have my body back. Once Phoebe turns a year and can have cow's milk, I'll keep nursing her in the mornings and evenings as long as we both can and want to, but the pumping will stop immediately, as well as the feeling that I don't quite have ownership of my breasts. They've been hers for almost a year, will have been hers for over a year at that point, and while that's a sacrifice I'm thrilled to have made for her, it's one I'm ready to let go.

I've been bitching about it to my girlfriends for a couple weeks, mostly to let off steam, and one of my friends is incredulous that I even bother to stick with it when it annoys me so much. The main thing about it now is that I set a goal. It makes zero sense to me to stop when I am five weeks short of the goal I set myself. I'm pretty sure- not 100%, but pretty sure- that I don't care about the whole good-mommy bad-mommy thing this time. I've made it far enough that I know I've done right by Phoebe, and I'd like to hope that if it hadn't gone so smoothly, I would have seen that not nursing her wouldn't have been not doing right by her in any case. But it would just kill me to have set a 12 month goal for myself and to quit with 5 weeks to go. I know myself well enough. I will regret it, no matter how much of a pain in the ass I find it right now.

Plus, my inner miser can't bear to have to buy a can or two of formula. That stuff is expensive! We've saved thousands of dollars feeding Phoebe over what we spent on formula for Caetlin.

So, here I am. 35 more days. Nothing in the grand scheme of things.

I remain so over it, as noted. The day I leave the house without the pump is the first day of my freedom. But, for the next 5 weeks, if you need me and can't find me, I'm probably the one behind a closed office door doing unspeakably weird things to my boobs (and not enjoying it, heh. I can't speak for what my colleagues might be doing). It's only 5 more weeks after all.