If your squeamish about breastmilk (or nursing) turn away now
Breast pumps are noisy. They make this whirring noise that is distinctly its own. If you have used a mechanical breast pump, you'll never miss the sound. All that being said, I compelled to share with you my afternoon because... it's my blog and I discuss motherly type things.
It was time to pump. That full feeling was there, and my breasts rock hard (don't believe they get this way? Ask a nursing mom). If I waited any longer I'd either be in more pain or I'd likely leak through my breast pads. Off to the bathroom I went...
Now sure, most corporations (if they are big enough) do have what they term as a lactation room for us nursing moms. The room is usually bare but for a couch and a lock on the door. And for obvious reasons no windows. But in this building? I have no idea where it is, nor do I care to find it. I've been through this before with my son. I just find the nearest bathroom and use the battery adapter for the pump.
And that is where I was--handicap stall, assorted accessories in front of me and pumping. I am not going to explain the whole set up. Just think machine, with funnels attached to breasts and a pump. Is it ingrained in your retina yet? If yes, you've got a pretty close picture to the real deal.
Some women need quiet and a picture of their baby to get the milk flowing. Thank God I do not. If I did, this nursing in a public restroom thing would never work. Ever. At about 2 minutes in, I had two women chatting about their weekend festivities in the stalls next to me. Five minutes in another woman talking on her cell phone and doing her business (yes, the entire time holding a conversation. I still don't know who does that sort of thing). And then there was this last woman. Close to 15 minutes in, when I was so close to done, I was actually watching the action with my finger on the off button just waiting.
"What the hell is that?" she muttered pulling quite aggressively from the paper toilet seat cover container along the wall, "It sounds like a churning heater or something."
She was obviously referring to the breast pump at my feet. The one whir-whirling away, pumping ounce by ounce of milk for my daughter.
At first I thought maybe she was talking with someone who'd walked in with her. But, when she not-so-politely shut the stall door next to me and made more noise than I thought humanly possible getting herself situated on the toilet to take a piss. I realized, she'd posed the question to me. And unknowingly, I ignored her. Or more accurately, I chose not to respond. Who poses questions to stall doors in the restroom?
I just left the pump... um... pumping and waited for her stream to stop. The quick exit to the sink and of course the door falling shut. Then, and only then, did I turn off the breast pump to finish up. God knows, if she would have heard me popping bottle tops and the crinkling of the ice packs to keep the bottles cold--well, there would have been another semi-rhetorical question about my business in the stall.
So for all you women out there--if you hear a whirling sorta sound and a black bag at some women's feet in a stall--just do your business and don't interrupt. Please. It is bad enough we have to lug around this damn machine to pump milk from our breasts on days we want to go out and about. We don't need social commentary about it. I get enough of that when I actually nurse my daughter in public. But that's another post altogether.
It was time to pump. That full feeling was there, and my breasts rock hard (don't believe they get this way? Ask a nursing mom). If I waited any longer I'd either be in more pain or I'd likely leak through my breast pads. Off to the bathroom I went...
Now sure, most corporations (if they are big enough) do have what they term as a lactation room for us nursing moms. The room is usually bare but for a couch and a lock on the door. And for obvious reasons no windows. But in this building? I have no idea where it is, nor do I care to find it. I've been through this before with my son. I just find the nearest bathroom and use the battery adapter for the pump.
And that is where I was--handicap stall, assorted accessories in front of me and pumping. I am not going to explain the whole set up. Just think machine, with funnels attached to breasts and a pump. Is it ingrained in your retina yet? If yes, you've got a pretty close picture to the real deal.
Some women need quiet and a picture of their baby to get the milk flowing. Thank God I do not. If I did, this nursing in a public restroom thing would never work. Ever. At about 2 minutes in, I had two women chatting about their weekend festivities in the stalls next to me. Five minutes in another woman talking on her cell phone and doing her business (yes, the entire time holding a conversation. I still don't know who does that sort of thing). And then there was this last woman. Close to 15 minutes in, when I was so close to done, I was actually watching the action with my finger on the off button just waiting.
"What the hell is that?" she muttered pulling quite aggressively from the paper toilet seat cover container along the wall, "It sounds like a churning heater or something."
She was obviously referring to the breast pump at my feet. The one whir-whirling away, pumping ounce by ounce of milk for my daughter.
At first I thought maybe she was talking with someone who'd walked in with her. But, when she not-so-politely shut the stall door next to me and made more noise than I thought humanly possible getting herself situated on the toilet to take a piss. I realized, she'd posed the question to me. And unknowingly, I ignored her. Or more accurately, I chose not to respond. Who poses questions to stall doors in the restroom?
I just left the pump... um... pumping and waited for her stream to stop. The quick exit to the sink and of course the door falling shut. Then, and only then, did I turn off the breast pump to finish up. God knows, if she would have heard me popping bottle tops and the crinkling of the ice packs to keep the bottles cold--well, there would have been another semi-rhetorical question about my business in the stall.
So for all you women out there--if you hear a whirling sorta sound and a black bag at some women's feet in a stall--just do your business and don't interrupt. Please. It is bad enough we have to lug around this damn machine to pump milk from our breasts on days we want to go out and about. We don't need social commentary about it. I get enough of that when I actually nurse my daughter in public. But that's another post altogether.
Labels: breastfeeding, me
