Pump it up

Dear Other Pumping Mom,

We have only crossed paths a couple of times, those times when I couldn't get away from my desk and my every three hour routine had been disrupted. When I rounded the corner to find the door to the lactation room closed, the "in use" sign engaged and heard that steady grind of the pump through the closed door. Luckily, I could take advantage of the empty room next door and on those few occasions when I heard you leaving the adjacent room, I was tempted, for a moment, to peek my head out the door and say something like "Hey, I stuff my nips in hard plastic and hook them up to a vacuum too."

When I first got here I wondered if there was anyone else using the room, I checked the mini fridge to see if someone was storing their milk in there, took into consideration if the chair was moved, the door left open or propped up against that "Caution Biological Materials" bucket. Eventually, I started seeing signs of you, a discarded paper towel or two in the garbage can. (Aren't there are a lot of paper towels available there? I wonder if you too, ever took a few extra because you had run out at home and knew you wouldn't have time to stop on the way back, and I mean hey, there are stacks and stacks of them there and clearly there aren't a hundred people using the room and someone is taking the time to restock them, so really aren't they asking you to throw a few in your bag as you close the door behind you?)

I have often thought about leaving a little note on one of those paper towels. I read a book called "Nursing Mother, Working Mother" where all the women at IBM who were using the same room to pump would write little notes back and forth to each other about pumping and working and trying to stay sane. While this book was enjoyable, I decided that my time is best spent checking facebook and playing Bejeweled on my iPhone.

I wonder OPM, what you do while you sit in that chair for 15 or 20 minutes at a time, a couple times a day. Are you one of those moms who slipped a photo in the appropriate plastic covered area on your pump so that you could look at a picture of your child, personalize the experience, help to let your milk down? Or are you like me, who tries to make a few phone calls, even though the reception in the room is terrible, and the constant drone of the pump has a tendency to drown out whoever you are talking to? Do you check your e-mail? Try to read a two-week-old US Magazine that you have folded up and stuffed into that boxy, black bag? (Although magazine reading isn't that doable in there, because the counter is higher than the chair and if you try to put it on your lap it just gets tangled up in the pump tubes.)

Do you lean back and wonder if it is possible to nap in a chair that only goes to mid-back, while you attach your breasts to plastic suction cups and hope that you are producing enough milk? Maybe you are one of those uber-milk moms, where it only takes you five minutes to get five ounces, or maybe you are like me, walking around with your left boob a full cup size or two larger than the "milk dud" on the right, hoping that you pump enough for a full bottle because the baby is 15lbs 14oz and is eying table food with his big blue eyes and you know that it doesn't matter, where, when or what he eats as long as he gets something, but you, like me, would prefer it to be breast milk.

Is this your first child or your third? Have you always worked here so you are accustomed to the lactation room, taking for granted the fact that it is in an actual medical center, is clean, has a door that locks, a fridge, a pillow for your back, a working sink? Or have you pumped in conference rooms hoping no one knocks on a door to tell you a meeting is supposed to start in there in two minutes? With the battery attachment in the back seat of your car? Or in the handicapped bathroom that had just enough of an ick factor to skeeve you out, but had a lock on the door? Have you forgotten your pump yet and had to turn around in rush hour traffic to retrieve it? Or worse yet, gotten to work and realized you forgot the plug, a membrane (it will not work without that little white piece), or even just an ice pack for the cooler?

Are you pumping yourself full of fenugreek and oatmeal cookies? Are you sipping mother's milk tea and gallons of water? Are you wondering why there is so much hair in the garbage can in the lactation room? It is because I am shedding like a dog. (Also, I have been finding some grays. Not cool. The last thing I need to be doing, is putting on plastic gloves and trying to dye my hair over the tub.)

Are you hoping that this is all worth it? That the more you pump means the longer you can feel connected, knowing that your baby is still getting something of you, even though you aren't even in the room with him?

OPM are you as tired as me? Do you find yourself singing "Pump up the Jam" by Technotronics, because lack of sleep and the whomb-whomb sound of the pump have made you insane?

Pump up the jam
Pump it up
While your feet are stompin'
And the jam is pumpin'
Look at here the crowd is jumpin'

Because I am.

I am also grateful that somewhere in this big building there is another mother pumping away and I am not alone.

OPM, perhaps one day I will pass you in the hallway, our black bags a telltale sign of the connection we share. Perhaps I will give you a knowing grin, maybe we will nod heads in awknowledgement of our shared experience but until then, if you get a chance, leave me a note, there are plenty of paper towels in the lactation room if you are looking for something to write on.

Yours in all things boob related,
Bean

Big Fat Pity Party

So this is going to be a bit of a pity party--be prepared. . .


How did I get to be a full-time employee in a Corporate (with a capital C) company? How did I go from poo foot and puke on my sweatpants to PowerPoint and ID badges? And how do I deal with the overwhelming and crushing guilt that keeps me up at night?

Oh wait, it is really QT who is still keeping me up at night because I have yet to cut the cord and make sure he is put back in his bed after each feeding. I usually wake up in the morning with him wedged in my armpit, while I have contorted my body into something that resembles both the fetal position and a backbend.

I am not sure if I was mentally prepared for this big of a change in my life. I am not sure I will ever be able to adjust to the role of "working" mother, because clearly, I was barely holding it together when I was working part-time. As my sister, who has it much more together than I ever will--with two-kids, a very demanding work schedule and who is on the partner track at her law firm told me--"this is just your new normal."

I wish there was a summer vacation involved.

I wish there were mornings where I didn't have to kick QT off the boob in order to get in the shower on time, mornings where I didn't have to leave before the Ladies woke up.

I wish that I had more than two pairs of pants, two pairs of flats and three cardigans that are work appropriate. I wish that three of those things weren't right now sitting on my dresser covered in baby puke.

I wish that after I paid the sitters there was something to show for it (perhaps a new shirt, because seriously, it is getting pretty dire, I really was wearing entirely too many pairs of yoga pants and until I drop the last of the baby weight, I am not squeezing in, sausage style, to some of my sweaters.)

I wish that 10-3 was the standard work day.

I wish that the copious amounts of peanut M&M's I have consumed in the last few weeks to combat my stress didn't taste so delicious.

I wish that all the Halloween parades and playdates and school events that I will miss in the next few weeks and months and years will be worth it.

and

I wish that my "new normal" affords us the opportunity to grow as a family, to take advantage of the time we do have together, and for me to provide the purple room with the bunkbeds that the Lady wants and a yard for her to run and run and run.

There is nothing more heartbreaking then your two-year-old saying "Bye Mama" on her way to the ER.

It has been one of those weeks.

The Little Lady is at the ER with her father, she has croup and her breathing has been labored and here I sit, waiting for any information to come my way and feeling like I should be there, while knowing she is in totally capable hands and that I need to be here for the Lady and QT.

It did make me feel a little better when she requested that she wear her Twinkle Toes to the hospital, but not much.

I think that what I have realized in the past few weeks is that as hard as I strive to find that balance in my life that sometimes things just suck, and in these times of imbalance, I have to figure out how to make it work anyway.

How was Your Day?

The Little Lady is always asking my husband "How was work?" or "How was your day"? She has also been known to wake up from her nap and ask, "How was my nap?"

Usually, she doesn't stick around for the answer, well Little Lady, here is the answer to your first question.

How is my day? How is my day? I am going to go pump for the second time and then go try to take a nap in the car, all the while hoping that you and your brother and sister are being well cared for by a sitter who I think might be overfeeding your brother and who is starting with another family next week so she can no longer help us out.

So Little Lady, because your dad will be away for all of next week and your grandma is holding down the fort with the Wild Ones and I am scrambling to make sure all the hours I need are covered, I will answer your question by saying this, if I knew anything about tweeting, I would tweet with the hashtag #fuckyoubacktowork.

The Mobile Bean

Yea to Blogger for finally coming up with the mobile blogging app. And yea to my friend Bill over at thetwinsarequiteahandful.blogspot.com for letting me know about it.

Clearly, mobile blogging has become a necessity because I am back to work full-time and finding myself in a constant state of anxiety, unable to access the blog at work, too tired when I get home to make the effort my readers deserve, and yet full of blog topics that need to be addressed.

I mean where else are you going to be able to read about my boob leaking or the amount of times at the office (twice) that I have cried since I have been here?

I will say typing with one finger on the iPhone isn't ideal, but it gets the job done for now.

Stay posted and as always thanks for reading!

The Lady Turns 4!

Happy! Happy!

Today the Lady turns 4. We have already gone out and gotten our nails done, browsed through a toy store, decorated pink cupcakes for school and personalized her birthday crown.

I wish her a year of dancing, laughing and learning.

I Love you Lady, have a very Happy 4th Birthday!

The Ladies Need a New Pair of Shoes

Ah. . . back-to-school shopping. I am lucky that both the Ladies have birthdays in the late summer/early fall. It is nice to get some new clothes for them without actually having to take them to a store.

Shoe shopping is a different story. After spending the last three months either barefoot with the blackest of black-bottomed feet or clad in Crocs, I had no idea what size either of the Ladies would be wearing, so I knew I would have to drag them both out to be measured.

While my mom stayed home with QT, I loaded the Ladies in Minnie-Ru and headed out to the mall. I don't know if it is just denial, or if I am still pumped up with so many post-pregnancy hormones, but I am totally under the false impression that taking only two kids with me is some sort of easy outing. Clearly, I haven't been reading my own posts from the last two years.

Anyway, the Ladies and I descended on Stride-Rite with a sense of excitement, at least I felt excitement--I was out with my big girls we were doing something fun together--what the Ladies felt however, could only be explained by methamphetamine use.

These Ladies were all over the place. Sliding along the vinyl covered seats, walking into the window display to check out the Sesame Street themed shoes, banging on the toy piano they plant in the middle of the store for God knows what reason--because you know those Sales Associates probably just want to take a hammer to it, taking the socks and the hair accessories off the hooks and yes, even looking at some shoes.

We went to Stride-Rite first because I needed the Ladies to be measured. I wasn't even sure we would be purchasing shoes there, one, because sometimes they are a little pricey and two, because the Lady was insistent on getting "Sketcher Sporty-Shortys--that light up" and I knew they didn't sell Sketchers there.

Sporty Shorty

There are things I love about the DVR and things I hate about the DVR. One thing I love is that I have access to multiple Strawberry Shortcake episodes "on the Hub." One thing I hate is that the Ladies insist on watching said episodes without me fast forwarding through the commercials. Sketchers--I commend you, you do a fantastic job of marketing your shoes to little girls. Not only are your "Sporty Shortys" very popular in our house, but we are also considering the "Twinkle Toes." Kudos to you.

Twinkle Toes

I will say that brand loyalty only goes so far and since the Lady can't read and the Sketcher's commercials are cartoons, she doesn't really have a firm grasp on what the sneakers actually look like. So, sitting there on the shelf was a pair of sneakers that looked very much like those Sporty Shorty shoes and best of all they lit up and they were on sale!

I figured if I could just corral the Ladies and get them measured all I would have to do would be to have them try those babies on and we would be out the door.

Why do people who work in stores geared towards children always seem so miserable? Granted, I would not want to measure the sweaty feet of anybody, let alone a squirmy 2-year old who may or may not still have syrup on her leg from that mornings breakfast, but come on--crack a smile or at least try to engage them a little bit. You could go a long way by telling a 4-year old you think that the shoes they picked out are cool.

Clearly, we had a sub-par Sales Associate. After she measured the Ladies, I asked her to see if they had the Stride-Rite "Sporty Shorty Shoe" in size 10 for the Lady. (She is really a 9.5--no wonder her ballet slippers don't fit, they are only a 9--thank goodness for the foresight of Santa Sheils who ordered those Lelly Kelley's in a 9.5, they still fit and she still rocks them at school.) The woman disappeared the back only to emerge later with shoes for another customer and not the Lady. In the meantime, I was trying to get the Little Lady from running out of the store in her pink socks and asked another (still kind of surly) Sales Associate for two pairs of shoes for the Little Lady. By the time she returned with the two pairs, both of which the Little Lady had zero interest in, there was still no faux-sportys for the Lady. We waited a few minutes, but waiting in a shoe store with two kids who are on some sort of shoe-fueled sugar high seems interminable.

Finally, I was able to get the attention of the second Sales Associate who promptly told me that they didn't have the shoes in the Lady's size. Ugh. We slipped the Crocs on over the socks--I know, I know, I don't want my kids looking like European tourists at Disney World either, but we were running dangerously low the amount of time it would be before someone had a meltdown or my boobs started to leak.

We made our way to Payless. No Sporty Shortys, but a lot of shoes that kind of looked like them in size 8 and 10.5. On a side note--they do have ballet slippers there if anyone ever needs them.

Then Macy's, which I thought was a long shot and it was. However, they have really cool tights there that I am going to pick up for the Lady for this winter.

I understand that malls make it virtually impossible for you to get anywhere in a straight line. They force you to take the long way around so that you have to pass every single store out there. I get it, I do. What I don't understand is why they skimp on the Directory signs. I mean come on, I just want a list of stores that sell children's shoes.

Finally. Foot Locker.

And there they were in all their pink sparkle glory, just sitting on the shelf waiting to light up not only themselves, but the very faces of the children they are marketed to. Oh Sporty Shorty! Oh Twinkle Toes! Oh dear Lord, will someone please come over here and help us? The Ladies are once again sliding on and off the bench, tossing around tissue-paper pulled from the inside of some shoe and walking through the clothing displays.

"Can I help you?"

"We will take any color/combination of Sporty Shorty or Twinkle Toes in size 7 and 10."

So what the guy comes back with is two pairs of Sporty Shortys in size 9 and 6 and then assures me that they run big.

Dude, I get that you have been way more helpful then your Stride-Rite counterparts, and maybe it is true that these shoes run big, but I am not walking out of here with two pairs of $50 light up shoes with the hope that these Ladies won't grow out of them in like two months.

I tried them on the Lady and they fit. Like, they just fit. I put on the size 6 for the Little Lady and all she said was "Ow."

So, we stuffed those ill-fitting sparkle shoes and our dreams of a successful shoe shopping outing back into those pink boxes and we left.

Zappos.com, here I come.