Yup, Em stayed at home today.
I have never been a good pumper. Those little bottles and bags never even come close to filling up. My babies, on the other hand, obviously have reaped the benefits of plenty of breast milk calories. We used to call our oldest “rubber band man” because of the rolls of fat around his wrists (and everywhere else). But the pump yields little more than a brief satisfying SSss-splish a few times, many a drip and then, if I’m lucky, 2 ounces per side. Last night and this morning, when I was trying to leave a supply for Em in my absence, I was very stressed out about this. But now I remember. Now that I’m back to the storage closet, or “the lounge” as we lactating mommies in the office refer to it, I remember, drip drip dribble.
I imagine those bottles filling with rich, white milk and think of the pride I will feel. During my first pregnancy I read in one of my breastfeeding books that you should imagine a river of milk when pumping. Or look at a photo of your baby. Or nurse on one side and pump on the other. I have tried all of these things with no greater success than if I sit listening to the Medela whir while staring at cartons of overrun publications. If I had a third hand I’d read. That seems the best of both worlds. But I just sit, listen, occasionally wince at my raw nipples and add up the ounces as each session in the closet comes to a draining end.
And my baby will survive.
Arrived home this afternoon to three smiling kids and one tired but relaxed daddy, who assessed that day one went as well as any day might. Now the big kids are asleep in their room, and Em is asleep all curled in to me. I can’t bear to put her down, even though her cosleeper is only inches from where I am sitting. I am getting very good at typing with one hand.
Parenthood is filled with days like this. Days that you think might be memorable for the utter weight of their consequence. And then they turn out to be just like any other. A day of playing and snacking and reading and phone calls to mom at the office. A day where the baby fits right in to the “usual” schedule, and no one feels like it’s ever been any other way. I am grateful for this. I am also a little saddened to know that life with a newborn is over. Em is sitting, playing, eating from a spoon. She is the tiniest of people in our house, but she is not a tiny baby anymore. And she can make it through a day without me. And I a day without her. I strongly believe that perhaps my most important job as a parent is to raise my children to live independently. And I will do my best. But there are some days that it’s very, very difficult to loosen my grip. Especially when the letting go means I must form an attachment to the breast pump that has been gathering dust beside my (our) bed.
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It’s Friday night and I’m on the computer “reminiscing” about pumping. I’m the world’s worst pumper. 2oz per side, maybe. I thought my breastmilk was indispensable. And when we had to give the babes formula when I couldn’t pump enough, they didn’t bat an adorable eyelash. I’m still pretty sure that something about me is indispensable, though.
Awesome! I’m loving all this breastfeeding stuff! Useful information.