Tales of a Milk Maid
When my daughter was born in March 2016, my goal was to breastfeed her until she turned 6-months-old, and then to reevaluate. Once we hit the 6-month goal, I reevaluated each month whether to continue. The issue was not whether I wanted to keep breastfeeding. I love breastfeeding. It’s quiet bonding time that I got with my daughter each day, and I loved knowing that I was providing her with nutrition and natural immunity. The problem was pumping. I went back to work when my daughter was five and a half months old, so I had to pump twice a day to get milk to send with her to daycare. At the risk of sounding overly dramatic, pumping is the worst thing in the entire world.
I am lucky enough that I have a private office at work, so when it was time to pump, I could shut my door and continue working. That is the end of the good news. Pumping is a dehydrating process, so I would have to drink at least 80 ounces of water a day to feel normal. The pump is loud, and I made the mistake of trying to take client phone calls while pumping until my husband informed me that he could hear the pump on his end of the call. I had to sit partially dressed in my desk chair, which made me feel cold and vulnerable. When I was done, I had to carry the bottles of breast milk down the hall and put them in the community fridge, all the while watching my coworkers divert their eyes in embarrassment. (Ok, I’ll admit it; I enjoyed that part of the process. I secretly dared them to say something about it. SAY IT. MENTION THE MILK FROM MY BREASTS.)
When I was not in the office, I either had to pump while I was driving, or pump in the backseat of my car once I arrived at my destination. I pumped on the 405 freeway. I pumped in the federal court parking lot. I pumped in the state court parking lot. I pumped in City Hall parking lots all over Orange County and the Inland Empire.
One time, I arrived early at a client’s office so that I could pump before a meeting. I opened my pumping bag, only to realize that I had left two of the required parts at home. If you are missing any pump part, the pump will not work. If you don’t pump when your body is expecting it, you run the risk of getting a raging infection that takes you out at the knees in mere hours. So, I Googled “how to pump breast milk without pump,” and watched a semi-pornographic video tutorial on how to hand express milk. Then, feeling like the resident pervert, I milked myself like a cow in the backseat of my Toyota. It’s a slow and messy process, so I was late for my meeting, and I had milk stains all over my pants.
It is difficult to think of a way I could have felt less glamorous at a client meeting than to rush in after hand expressing milk in the back seat of my car. Thankfully, I was able to distract my clients with creative and insightful legal advice (i.e., “hmm, I’ll have to think about that more and get back to you.”)
In the end, I’m glad my daughter received the immunity and nutritional benefits of breast milk, and I secretly loved being a martyr, but once she reached the age of one, I called it quits, switched the bean to cow’s milk, and threw my pump in the hall closet.