An Ode To My Breast Pump

To some, it may be strange to be ever so grateful for a piece of medical equipment and yet hate it at the same time. Or maybe it's not strange at all. Maybe for you, that sentiment is all too relatable. You see, for exactly 13 months and one week, I spent my work breaks pumping breastmilk for my son. It was something I chose to do and something I feel was 100% the right decision for me as a mother. I don't regret it in the slightest, but I'm not gonna lie, it was really hard work! My pump and I were seldomly in two different places and if that ever so useful little device could talk, it would tell some of the most heart-wrenching, yet most rewarding stories of determination and love.

I actually started my relationship with my pump weeks before going to work. It was pretty much immediately after my son was born. I didn't have a good start with breastfeeding, which lead me to believe I needed to supplement with formula. This of course threw off the delicate balance of supply and demand and I ended up becoming an underproducer. So from about 2 weeks on, I was pumping every 2 hours. EVERY. TWO. HOURS. Even at night. It was insanity. I was pretty much an exclusive pumper for about a month and a half. (Kudos to all you EP’ers out there. You mamas are so tough!)

Once I finally returned to work, my trusty pump and I were familiar friends. I learned almost instantly on the first day back just how difficult it is to take time away to pump when you're a teacher. I also learned that, even though it was district policy to allow pump breaks to employees the administrators on my campus didn't have to make it a priority. In fact, sending someone to cover my already difficult class for me so I could sneak away to pump was overlooked more times can I can count. Especially when we were on an alternate event schedule.

If my pump could talk, it would tell you about the first day back, when I taught 3 classes of rough and tough middle schoolers back to back before locking myself in my office and breaking down from stress. Of course, I only had 30 minutes until lunch was over and I needed to stand in front of more middle schoolers and act like I was fine. It would tell you about the time I got mastitis and my body ached so bad that even moving was painful. It would tell you about the time I pumped 6 ounces in one sitting and about what a victory that was. And eventually, it would tell you about how a determined underproducer ended up building up a freezer stash that would be donated to feed 3 other babies. It would tell you several stories about a young and naive mom who didn't think she could, but did.

Over the course of one semester, I pumped in offices, parking lots, closets, conference rooms, hotels, convention centers, and a practice room in a band hall. I pumped through four off campus trips with students, two professional development conferences, STAAR testing, and many school assemblies. I pumped before school, after school, in the middle of the night, and during holiday gatherings. That pump bag almost started to feel like a second baby.

And then the day came when I didn't need to pump anymore. We reached our goal. My boy was a whole year old and was starting to become content woth only nursing on the evenings. So I cleaned up all those tubes and plastic caps and containers and I put it all away. Thank you, old friend. You served me well. 


Hugs, 
Destiny