Waterbugs and Breastmilk

You know, working full-time and breastfeeding full-time is a hard combination to balance. If you had a working and nursing mom, you should call her right now and tell her how much you love her for those extra brain smarts she squeezed out of her boobs for you. Seriously. Pumping at work (I pump 3x/day) is a royal pain in the ass. No lie. And I am not the only one who feels this way. Let me share a few pumping at work horror stories with you.

My friend Amy, a social worker, was doing a mediation training at a middle school and asked to for a space to pump. They sent her to a room FILLED with middle school girls, and she dutifully pumped in front of them. Needless to say she only pumped one ounce. She has also pumped in some office of a high city official (not the mayor, but some other big wig). My friend Ashley, who is a physical therapist in schools, had to pump in the gym on a trampoline with gym mats stacked around her for privacy--her pump cord dangling out from this haphazard set-up. Can you imagine?!

Today, while pumping, I had a stare down with a 3 inch waterbug. I am not sure what the difference is between a waterbug and a roach, all I know if that it seriously stared at me, waving it's antennae (is that a word?) as if in protest, which were literally 2 inches long. It was terrifying. I kept thinking that it was going to leap off the floor and attack my face. I was sitting on the student desk that I have placed in the bathroom to house my pump, with my feet on the chair I usually sit on. Eventually it crawled into the wall (Does that mean I won the stare down? Am I the alpha?), but I stared at the spot where it stood for the rest of my pumping session, afraid it would re-emerge with an entourage of friends.

Now I am just completely skeeved out and feel that there are roaches or waterbugs all over my clothes, bags, etc. A sign of true poverty or ghetto-ness is when a roach crawls out of a student's bag or coat. There is no better way to become a pariah in a public school than for that to happen. ARGH!

So, Alexandra Osa, my dear daughter, I hope that one day you read this post and know how much I love you--enough to pump milk for you in a bathroom that smells like fresh shit with roaches the size of small dogs bargaining for space. You better get a college scholarship girly!