Breastfeeding: a natural, beautiful, nourishing harmony between mother and child. One of the things I love the most about mothering an infant.
Pumping at work: a bizarre symbiosis between a woman trying not to get breastmilk on her 'dry clean only' suit pants, and a rhythmically groaning device. A device with many small, yet critical parts that can easily be misplaced. The thing I love the least about mothering an infant.
Don't get me wrong, I am very grateful that I am able to make enough milk to feed my child, but I am disorientated by this intrusion of the biology of motherhood into the fabric of my work day.
Pumping at work leaves me feeling anxious and vulnerable. Will there be enough milk? Will someone ignore the sign on my office door and barge in on me in all my pump bra and plastic cone clad glory? Will I forget to rebutton a critical part of of my attire after pumping and inadvertantly expose myself to my coworkers? Will I knock the bottle of expressed milk across my computer keyboard?- try explaining that one to your IT department.
So, although my breastpump has proved to be a sturdy and reliable partner in my efforts to remotely feed my children, I have fantasies of the day that I no longer need it. Inspired by the printer demolition scene in the movie 'office space', I dream of taking it to a remote location and beating it to a pulp of valves and wires.