Adventures in Bovine-Land

As of today, I have officially burnt out FIVE (count them ladies & gents) breast pumps. Three of those were of inferior quality and shouldn't be counted as more than one, probably. But two were high grade, supposed to last you through three kids type pumps. I am extremely careful with them. And I pump a lot, since what we do after much trial and error is I pump all the good stuff out and then put it in bottles. It was the best solution for the babies. But man, it's still ridiculous!!

Today's fun started when I was sitting down to do the pump and all of a sudden it made a funny noise. Then it started wheezing asthmatically and no suction. I called the manufacturer and the place I bought the pump and I'll be getting a new one Tuesday. In the meantime, there is an impressive looking hospital grade rental over on the couch waiting for its 3 am duty call (Yes, I get up, even though the babies DON'T, groggily and grumpily at 3 am to pump milk. I am dedicated to this crap. At least till the end of December. I think.). There had been omens & portens of the end, now that I think of it. The last week has shown a decrease in output, and I thought it was cause I was sick and thought seriously of quitting this weekend. I have freezerful of milk so that the babies will still be "breastfed" till at least a month from when I stop pumping. So being sick, and not getting as much as I ought to, I was seriously considering stopping. But I think it was the pump wearing out on me and I'm re-dedicated to trying again for a while.

But it's absofreakin'lutely amazing how difficult it can be to do this. The traditional mom who breastfeeds whips out the boob, little junior goes to town for twenty minutes or so, falls asleep happy. Mom gets the added bennies of weight loss and more calories allowed. Baby gets all those health bennies. But with two at once, and the "issues" I have which caused several emergency room trips before I found out Sean did not have that pyloric somethingorother* puking thing babies get.... it's been a wild ride, to say the least.

It's weird though. Today, before the pump broke while I was contemplating how I would cope with the holiday travels and transporting frozen breastmilk (which I would have to do if I were no longer producing fresh stuff myself) I started to feel sad and not wanting to quit, in spite of my HATING to get up at 3 am while the whole damn house is happily asleep (usually even the cat. Not even a mouse. Santa has a thankless job, I'll tell you).

Motherhood is so weird. There's this mixture of intense love and pride and fierce protectiveness tied up with guilt and exhaustion and the knowledge that you would cheerfully kick the crap out of anyone who hurt your babies. And all those feminist arguments you make about equality are still as valid, still as important, but even more important is the absolute joy you feel that you have a hubby who is ACTUALLY one of the good ones, who gets up at 5 am with you to feed babies, who the babies actually like to hang out with (sometimes even preferring him to mommy). Who comes home and is glad to see them.

And even if it means you have to wash bottles AGAIN and your knuckles are a bit raw/red like an old washerwoman's, you don't care. You'll do it.

And when the babies eyes light up because you've got a small bowl full of strained prunes to feed them, you never knew that prunes could cause so much joy in anyone under the age of 70 and you start to think of all the other things you're going to learn.

And then you remember that you have to get up at 3 am again for another month. And this damn next breastpump better be up for the effort.

*Stenosis. Means a tight valve. Not as in Confederacy of Dunces.