Adventures in Lactation: Eat like a troll

My new theme song is "Pump it" by the Black-eyed Peas. At or around the hours of 1, 4, 7 and 10 (am AND pm) I am to be found in the baby's room. That's where we keep the pump. My visiting teacher generously offered to loan me her pump while Olivia's in the hospital. And while I love my visiting teacher, and my baby, and the fact that I have milk and can pump, I have grown to hate that pump.

It's not the pump's fault. It's a very nice double electric, and without it I would long ago have opted for a double mastectomy. But I still hate that pump.

For one thing, I've practically had to devote my life to it, and it's not a very interesting companion. It has one thing to say, over and over and over: "Eat like a troll, eat like a troll, eat like a troll." I swear that's what it's saying to me. It never changes it's mantra. Just once I'd like to hear it say to eat the troll. Instead, I just remind myself that I'm doing this for my baby, and I congratulate myself on my freezer full of milk for when she comes home. And I take fresh milk in to her everyday, too. In the long run, it's going to be worth it.

And it's not like I can just pump and go back to sleep. You have to be sitting up, or the milk won't go down into the bottle. And you have to hold the pumps to your chest, or they'll lose suction and either fall off and spill or make a really loud farting sound (Charles loves that part. It's lost it's charm for me.) Then, when you've pumped two minutes past any milk flow, you have to label the milk and either freeze or refrigerate. Luckily, the hospital provides labels with Olivia's name and birthday and medical record number, but I still have to figure out what day and time it is everytime I pump. It's not as easy as it sounds when all your days are running together in a blur of pumping and hospital-going.

Then comes my favorite part. You have to wash the pump parts and put them out to dry for the next time you pump in two and a half hours. Yes, they are dishwasher safe, but you can't justify running the dishwasher four times in a night for four little parts. I just wish they had disposable pump parts because I'd be filling landfills with them, and getting fifteen extra minutes of sleep every three hours, and while that doesn't sound like a lot, it would be, ok?

And lest any of my readers fear that I've lost my good attitude and healthy perspective, I'm trying to make the best of it. Pumping has created a most insatiable thirst in me, and I've had fun trying millions of beverages to quench it. Right now, as I lay out all my pumping supplies for the night, I am also putting out a thermos of water, a thermos of lemon lime kool-aid (my mom never let us have it when I was a kid because of the staining risks. The sugar wasn't an issue.) and a plate of purple grapes, which, interestingly enough, seem to take the edge off the thirst at least temporarily. I also have a bag full of fruit snacks (snoot fracks, as Charles calls them), granola bars, and other such delicious and nutritious midnight snacks. Last but not least, I have a fully charged ipod so I can while away the hours playing solitaire and furthering my music education.

And in the morning, I get to take all the fruits of my labor to the hospital where my daughter smiles at me as she digests them, and that makes it worthwhile. But I really can't wait to bring her home and have a more amiable companion for my late-night lactation adventures. Of all the noises and sounds I've heard Livie make, "Eat like a troll" is not one of them.