Dead.
It's dead. Totally and completely dead.
What's dead?
My pump. And with it, I suppose, my obligation to continue pumping milk for Lorelei.
The pump had been acting temperamental lately. I replaced the adapter, which did nada (but it was smaller and lighter, so not a total waste of $), and finally, the sucker (pun intended) just refused to turn on.
Instead of feeling relieved, I panicked. For starters, I needed to pump, which ain't the most comfy feeling. Second, two more of Lorelei's feedings (she currently gets one bottle of formula) per day were going to convert to formula.
I had already been toying with the idea of giving up the midday pumping session. I had recently reduced down to one pumping session per day, which could give me almost two bottles worth of milk. The output was good enough that I felt the immense hassle was mostly justified.
Still, with the introduction of solids and DID I MENTION THE HASSLE, I wondered if it wasn't time to reclaim some of my normal life.
Now I have no choice. Well, that's not entirely true. I could drop another $250 to $300 on a pump, but more than 5 months in to my last child's life, I'm not willing to do that. I mean, you can buy a LOT of formula with that.
And yet. I called my mom and pretty much instantly dissolved into tears. I knew she thought I should've given up on pumping at work ages ago, arguing it was an unnecessary burden, and while I intellectually agreed with her, I haaaaaaaaaaaate to compromise on anything because I work outside the home. It's my own mental block, and certainly not one I endorse, but there it is:
I pump(ed) out of guilt.
As you know, I utterly detest the "breast is best" rhetoric and pressure, but I do think breast milk is a smidge better than formula (the question is, AT WHAT COST?). Besides, with all the germs bouncing around, a few extra antibodies for my littlest girl were good.
What pumping comes down to, though, is guilt. I should be smarter than this, but I'm not. I cannot stand for my girls to "pay" the cost of me working outside the home in any way, which obviously means I make mothering mountains of mothering molehills. On a rational level, I realize that Lorelei drinking formula instead of milk means pretty much nothing, but it seemed like an impossibly too-big Guilt Thing to overcome, especially when I could still generate a decent amount during the day, and especially when I endured A LOT to get her to this point.
I'm bawling as I type this, by the way.
My mom, thankfully, avoided pointing out that she couldn't understand why I bothered pumping in the first place, and went straight for the heart of the problem: "YOU wanted to determine when you quit, not be forced into it by a failed motor."
Yep. Pretty much.
I'm sure my disappointment is mixed with the conflicting feelings I have about working, the constant second-guessing that parenting in an alarmist, no-amount-of-maternal-devotion-is-too-much culture, and the incredibly obnoxious power that the breastfeeding propaganda actually, apparently, has.
I keep wondering--should I just splurge and blow $300 on a new pump? And then I think, no, I really only had another month in me at the most anyway. I mean, the girl has started solids.
Then I think, surely Lorelei is worth $300! I mean, hell. Look at her school tuition. Drop, bucket.
Then I realize: Ashley, that's the crazy talking. Your girls are worth more than anything in the world, BUT IT DOESN'T MEAN YOU NEED TO BE CRAZY AND STUPID.
"You can still nurse her in the mornings," Mums continued, "And in the evenings." True. And these two feedings are far more important to me than watching those Medela bottles slowly fill, drip by drip.
But I can't help but feel screwed over. As much as I hated doing it, pumping was a concrete thing I did each day that connected me to Lorelei. With my door closed and locked (did I mention I obtained a lock?), I dug my heels in and communicated, "Y'all, I'm a mommy first and foremost, and that kid of mine has to eat tomorrow." Oh, and the not-so-quiet whooshing of the pump communicated it as well.
This too is rather, as Charlotte would describe it, SILLY. My friend Julie pointed out a fantastic blog, Fearless Formula Feeder, and it oh so gloriously intelligently defends formula feeding (NOT by poo-pooing breastfeeding, mind you).
I mean, really. REALLY. It's. Just. Formula.
Thus, my assignment as I prepare to go into work on Monday without my pumping bag and all its bottles and accessories (oh! how awesome will that be?!), is to LET GO of this ridiculous guilt.
After all. I'd say such breastfeeding guilt is anti-feminist. And really, if breastfeeding guilt is something I want to see eliminated by the time my baby girls have babies (if they opt for babies, that is), then I need to at least do my part and STOP IT. I would never, EVER want them to feel crappy about how they feed their babies, because there is absolutely no reason for it.
I hate that I've bought in to this supposed test of maternal devotion, and I hate that I've defended formula feeding while secretly stressing about milk supply for the past 5 months, not wanting to actually USE formula. It's embarrassingly hypocritical.
Remember my Mayor Bloomberg post? About his awful breastfeeding initiative, which by the way, our hospital unfortunately adopted (based on broader breastfeeding initiatives)? There were several times I'd be watching the news while feeding Lorelei and his gall-inducing face would appear. "I hate that I'm breastfeeding while watching him!" I told Chris, more than once. "I feel like he WON."
Well, my pump motor won this round, Mayor Bloomberg, and I think I'm gonna go get an extra-large soda to celebrate.
What's dead?
My pump. And with it, I suppose, my obligation to continue pumping milk for Lorelei.
The pump had been acting temperamental lately. I replaced the adapter, which did nada (but it was smaller and lighter, so not a total waste of $), and finally, the sucker (pun intended) just refused to turn on.
Instead of feeling relieved, I panicked. For starters, I needed to pump, which ain't the most comfy feeling. Second, two more of Lorelei's feedings (she currently gets one bottle of formula) per day were going to convert to formula.
I had already been toying with the idea of giving up the midday pumping session. I had recently reduced down to one pumping session per day, which could give me almost two bottles worth of milk. The output was good enough that I felt the immense hassle was mostly justified.
Still, with the introduction of solids and DID I MENTION THE HASSLE, I wondered if it wasn't time to reclaim some of my normal life.
Now I have no choice. Well, that's not entirely true. I could drop another $250 to $300 on a pump, but more than 5 months in to my last child's life, I'm not willing to do that. I mean, you can buy a LOT of formula with that.
And yet. I called my mom and pretty much instantly dissolved into tears. I knew she thought I should've given up on pumping at work ages ago, arguing it was an unnecessary burden, and while I intellectually agreed with her, I haaaaaaaaaaaate to compromise on anything because I work outside the home. It's my own mental block, and certainly not one I endorse, but there it is:
I pump(ed) out of guilt.
As you know, I utterly detest the "breast is best" rhetoric and pressure, but I do think breast milk is a smidge better than formula (the question is, AT WHAT COST?). Besides, with all the germs bouncing around, a few extra antibodies for my littlest girl were good.
What pumping comes down to, though, is guilt. I should be smarter than this, but I'm not. I cannot stand for my girls to "pay" the cost of me working outside the home in any way, which obviously means I make mothering mountains of mothering molehills. On a rational level, I realize that Lorelei drinking formula instead of milk means pretty much nothing, but it seemed like an impossibly too-big Guilt Thing to overcome, especially when I could still generate a decent amount during the day, and especially when I endured A LOT to get her to this point.
I'm bawling as I type this, by the way.
My mom, thankfully, avoided pointing out that she couldn't understand why I bothered pumping in the first place, and went straight for the heart of the problem: "YOU wanted to determine when you quit, not be forced into it by a failed motor."
Yep. Pretty much.
I'm sure my disappointment is mixed with the conflicting feelings I have about working, the constant second-guessing that parenting in an alarmist, no-amount-of-maternal-devotion-is-too-much culture, and the incredibly obnoxious power that the breastfeeding propaganda actually, apparently, has.
I keep wondering--should I just splurge and blow $300 on a new pump? And then I think, no, I really only had another month in me at the most anyway. I mean, the girl has started solids.
Then I think, surely Lorelei is worth $300! I mean, hell. Look at her school tuition. Drop, bucket.
Then I realize: Ashley, that's the crazy talking. Your girls are worth more than anything in the world, BUT IT DOESN'T MEAN YOU NEED TO BE CRAZY AND STUPID.
"You can still nurse her in the mornings," Mums continued, "And in the evenings." True. And these two feedings are far more important to me than watching those Medela bottles slowly fill, drip by drip.
But I can't help but feel screwed over. As much as I hated doing it, pumping was a concrete thing I did each day that connected me to Lorelei. With my door closed and locked (did I mention I obtained a lock?), I dug my heels in and communicated, "Y'all, I'm a mommy first and foremost, and that kid of mine has to eat tomorrow." Oh, and the not-so-quiet whooshing of the pump communicated it as well.
This too is rather, as Charlotte would describe it, SILLY. My friend Julie pointed out a fantastic blog, Fearless Formula Feeder, and it oh so gloriously intelligently defends formula feeding (NOT by poo-pooing breastfeeding, mind you).
I mean, really. REALLY. It's. Just. Formula.
Thus, my assignment as I prepare to go into work on Monday without my pumping bag and all its bottles and accessories (oh! how awesome will that be?!), is to LET GO of this ridiculous guilt.
After all. I'd say such breastfeeding guilt is anti-feminist. And really, if breastfeeding guilt is something I want to see eliminated by the time my baby girls have babies (if they opt for babies, that is), then I need to at least do my part and STOP IT. I would never, EVER want them to feel crappy about how they feed their babies, because there is absolutely no reason for it.
I hate that I've bought in to this supposed test of maternal devotion, and I hate that I've defended formula feeding while secretly stressing about milk supply for the past 5 months, not wanting to actually USE formula. It's embarrassingly hypocritical.
Remember my Mayor Bloomberg post? About his awful breastfeeding initiative, which by the way, our hospital unfortunately adopted (based on broader breastfeeding initiatives)? There were several times I'd be watching the news while feeding Lorelei and his gall-inducing face would appear. "I hate that I'm breastfeeding while watching him!" I told Chris, more than once. "I feel like he WON."
Well, my pump motor won this round, Mayor Bloomberg, and I think I'm gonna go get an extra-large soda to celebrate.
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