I won't miss you

Prior to my son’s birth, I had made a commitment to myself that I would give my son breast milk for at least the first year. I had no idea how that commitment would be tested. I knew with my return to work that pumping would be necessary but I had envisioned that I would nurse otherwise. Then…life happened.

After birth, as I patiently waited for my milk to come in, my son lost 12 ounces in weight (11% of his birth weight). For his Day 3 doctor’s visit, it was recommended that we supplement with formula. Given his weight, I was happy to oblige. He nursed first, followed by a bottle. The dry nursing resulted in horrible sores and a frustrated baby. Day 5 came and finally so did the milk. So much so, that it backed up into my armpit! Didn’t know that could happen! I figured, “Great, now we can settle into a routine”. Unfortunately, Cole’s latch never quite worked and both of us struggled with thrush for weeks despite multiple treatments and no relief. I distinctly remember dreading every feeding and crying because of the pain of nursing. Certainly not what I had envisioned for my first two months of motherhood.

Finally, I decided to pump instead of nurse because I was desperate for a resolution and my nursing consultant suggested that the baby and I may be trading the infection back and forth between us during nursing. What I witnessed thereafter was a baby that was happier after meals because the bottle gave him more milk with fewer struggles. He slept very well, which allowed me to “catch up” by extra pumping while he was asleep. With this solution, I settled on becoming what I have read is called an “EPer” (exclusive pumper).

            What followed was ten months of hauling a small black backpack with me everywhere I went. I never really gained a healthy supply of milk so had to pump often in order to keep up with demand. After a while, I truly began to despise that machine. Not only did I constantly worry about supply (since I could measure every ounce), it came with such anxiety about when and where I would pump. I found myself jealous of nursing mothers who got the convenience of a simple cover up and can sit comfortably in any chair. Other than at home, I found myself hiding in bathrooms hoping no one could hear the motor running. Having to make sure I was somewhere convenient every few hours or so made for limited social contact. A recent trip for a family funeral had me pumping in the back row of my in-laws SUV and thanking God for tinted windows. In short, it was a LONG ten months. But that commitment stayed true and my boy received all of the benefits of breast milk (minus the breast) for an entire year.

Now that birthdays and parties have passed, I get to say good-bye to my little black backpack. I needed you but never liked you. You were both convenient and a horrible inconvenience. Although it reminds me that my baby is now eating “big boy food”, I still could not be happier to see you go.

Good riddance.

By the way, anyone wanna buy a breast pump? J