why i love pumping. yes, i said that.

It's like an unwritten rule among nursing moms that everybody hates the breastpump.  EVERY. BODY.  "The pump" is said in a hushed voice sort of like you're talking about Voldemort, or Hitler, or a dead mouse you found in your car after six weeks. 

I want to go on record as saying:

I love pumping.

It's the 'love that dare not speak its name' in the lactation world, I believe.  But, as I enter the homestretch of nursing (BabyGirl is nearly 10 months and I've always aimed to nurse for a year, so we'll see what happens after that), I'd like to speak that forbidden love into reality.  Yes, Me.dela Pu.mpIn.Styl.e, I love you.  Shall we count the ways?

• The pump has never bitten me.  Not even once.
• Pumping allows me to shut my office door*, ignore the phone and emails, and take 15 minutes for myself at least once a day.  Sometimes even twice.  There is nothing wrong with this.
• It has never hurt to pump, unlike those first six weeks of nursing which hurt like motherf#ckinghell every single time she needed to eat, which felt like every 35 minutes.
• Because of the pump, I am able to continue breastfeeding my kid while I work.  This is cool.
• The pump does not pinch a tiny fold of skin and then twist it while nursing.  It has never done this and I am pretty confident it never will.
• Twice I have used the battery-powered option to pump while driving (i.e. sitting) in traffic.  I find this ridiculously enjoyable.
• After four years of infertility, I still find it amazing that my body is capable of doing anything on its own in regard to reproduction, and those tiny bottles of milk from my very own body are proof that I can, in fact, breastfeed a baby.  It makes me feel good.  Take that, endometriosis.
• The pump does not wake up hungry at 5:00am.
• The pump is completely happy to work around my schedule.  (My boobs, not so much.  They have a schedule all their own.)
• Three words: pump and dump.  Excellent for those earlier days when mommy really, really needed a glass of wine.  Or possibly four.

I mean, it's not that pumping is my favorite thing in the universe, and it's certainly nowhere near as enjoyable as nursing BabyGirl (apart from the biting) (and the pinching) (which, by the way, WHAT can I do about that?) - but it hasn't been that bad.  Here's to you, old friend.

*I know that having my own office is a huge part of why pumping is not a big deal to me.  Trying to do that multiple times daily in a bathroom or some random spot in your workplace would be a pain in the ass.  I get that.  Also, I know it does hurt to pump for some people.  I'm lucky in that regard.  Therein ends my disclaimers.

catching up

Well, hello there.  It's been awhile.

I've been on vacation, which was great, apart from the fact that it coincided with my child's decision to stop sleeping through the night, because that is boring, and why be boring when you could get up five times and play with your parents at 1:00am?  Lovely.  I believe the 'nine-month sleep regression' perfectly coincided with 'two weeks out of town sleeping in the pack-and-play,' which also matched up with 'staying in other people's homes/hotels/cabins wherein we are trying not to wake up everyone else at 3:30 in the morning,' which meant that I nursed her to sleep and then she decided that was too fun to give up.

We are working on that one.  It's getting better. Kind of.

In other exciting baby news, we have a crawler.  Who immediately went for the lamp cord, two outlets (already outfitted with outlet plugs, fortunately), sixty-five small pieces of lint/dust/grass/othercrap on the carpet, and who would much, much rather rip up magazines that play with the family room full of baby toys immediately available to her.  This seems just about right to me, and also a lot of work. 

And I let her fall off the bed.  BY ACCIDENT, PEOPLE, nobody panic.  But wait, it gets better: this happened at my in-laws house.  After, by the way, we had been video-chatting with them the week before and she choked on a piece of carrot just as I was bragging that she was doing such a great job of gumming the (very, very, very cooked) (except for that piece, apparently) baby carrots that week.  So my slightly overprotective mother-in-law is watching as we pound her on the back and (quickly, thank heavens) the carrot piece comes flying out, and then less than a week later I'm changing her in their guest room and I turned around for TWO FREAKING SECONDS and she rolled off the bed.

THUMP.

Silence.

SCREAM.

Instant appearance of mother-in-law at bedroom door: "Is everything okay?"

Shit.

Mother of the Year, right here.

Also, I got my period a few weeks ago, for the first time in eighteen months.  Which means that we are officially Trying again, although for now, that simply translates to "not doing anything to stop getting pregnant," and our chances of that working are slim to none.  If I were a normal fertile person, I would not choose to get pregnant while parenting a nine-month old, but I guess 'timing between kids' is yet another thing infertility takes away from you.  Of course, we'd be delighted by a surprise.  But we'll just see how it goes for a few months and then evaluate. 

So, there you have it.  If you'll excuse me, I need some coffee.