My Odd Porn

I have a breast pump I borrowed from a friend for this new job. It's a super sweet one with dual pumping action and simulated sucking rhythms. I could geek out on this breastpump like my college boyfriend could geek out on VW Type III's. It's beautiful and top of the line.

And I hate it.

Don't get me wrong-- I would hate any breastpump. They are weird and they change me from a loving peaceful mommy bonding with baby into a lactating milk-cow hooked up to machinery for maximum output. Rreee-yuh. Ree-yuh. (this is the sound the breast pump makes.) I actually enjoy breastfeeding Moxie. Nursing her is a quiet oasis in my day. She plays with her feet and de-latches to give me gummy, toothless grins, sprawled across my lap. I hum to her and rub her cheek and remember why I love being a mommy. But using a breastpump reminds me of my physical responsibility to my baby. It is a leash, a chain, and I am on the chain-gang. It is also uncomfortable for me to balance the double horns attached to my breasts and I inevitably lose my grip at some point which makes the suction break and it starts giving the side of my nipple hickeys until I can juggle the other breast and pump horn and readjust the loose one. Then there is the whole 'output' issue. I don't have much. Output.

When Tallulah was six months old I went back to work for a short period of time. I set myself up as well as possible; I got a serious, expensive, top of the line breastpump. I scheduled a time to begin pumping before I returned to work so I would have some reserve in the freezer. In the little picture pocket window in the breastpump bag I placed a picture of Tallulah making her "feed me" face; she would purse up her lips and shake her head back and forth saying, "huh, huh, huh." It cracked Kent and me up because she would do this with the desperation of a starving man even if it had only been 20 minutes since her last feeding. [sidenote: this is either a general baby thing or at the very least a Bonifield baby thing. Moxie makes the same expression and even the same sound. She also does it whenever she catches sight of my boobs, like if I'm changing my clothes, even when she's not hungry. Kent finds this hilarious and has started doing the same thing. My boobs are a hot commodity around here. When the breastpump starts doing it, I'm going professional.]

So imagine my frustration when, after all this preparation, I was only able to pump an ounce or two at a time. Do you know how much an ounce is? Not much. I would do the pumping and try to relax and look at pictures of my baby and think about her and try to relax some more and turn up the pumping action or turn down the pumping action and then after 20 minutes I would turn off the machine and take my measly ounce and a half and pour it into a breastmilk baggie and stick it in the freezer. And the top of the baggie would have so much room it would droop down, dejected to be used for such a pitiful amount of milk.

With Moxie, I refused to be sidetracked by the output issue. With Tallulah it really clouded the entire work momentum-- I worried about it, debated supplementing, researched type of supplementation, etc. This time around I decided, "forget it. Moxie is still nursing around every two hours. Rather than stress about getting enough Momma Milk, I'll supplement and pump for breastmilk buildup relief." And that's what I've done. I try to schedule my appointments so I only miss one feeding at a time and when I'm about to miss a second one, I pump. Meanwhile she happily drinks whatever is put in front of her because she is the best baby in the history of all babies. (and did I mention the most beautiful? This is not just the gushing of a biased mom. This is fact.)

So pumping this time around is a totally different experience because I'm less stressed about it and there is no pressure for me to 'perform.' But I'm feeling kind of funny about it for a different reason. See, when I borrowed the pump from my friend, she left the picture of her baby in the breast pump bag picture pocket-- you know, the one to help visualize your baby, relax, and get the milk to let down? And I've been so casual about pumping that I didn't bother to take it out or put Moxie's picture in, so the other day while pumping, I was thinking about Moxie and I found myself looking at the picture of Baby Eli.

"Babies at that age look so similar," I thought. "He kind of looks like he's about to make that 'feed me' face. I wonder if he makes the sound, too." Anyway, before I knew it, the pumping session was over and I had pumped THREE ounces, a miracle for me. Maybe it was just that I was distracted and had pumped longer. Maybe I was particularly well hydrated. Maybe it was just a fluke. But Moxie, it didn't mean anything to me. It was just physical. You know I love you. This was just pumping-- with you, I make milk.