Mothering from the cube...

My mother was home with me for the first five years of my life. I had grown up with this idealistic image of my future as a mother doing the same. That's not how things have turned out thus far, though. It has actually gone pretty well so far, me returning to the cube farm, my husband keeping the nest at home nice and warm. I do have some pretty bad mama envy sometimes for my friends who are able to stay home with their babies, as I'm sure some of them envy how I get to spend all day in a room full of grown-ups. Hell, I'm sure even my husband envies the room full of grown-ups most days... especially when our dear four-month-old has a raging nap strike or diaper full of 'gifts'.

Anyway, mothering from the cubefarm has challenges I never foresaw in my little glass ball growing up. I'm thankful to not have the daycare headache that many of my peers have, especially since after bills and groceries there is no extra to devote to paying a stranger to parent our child during the day. I'm sad when my son prefers my husband for comfort over me... but I know he's safe at home while I'm at work. With a stable daytime environment for husband and son, I can work in peace. My job then (aside from earning utilities and groceries) is to make milk. It's really the primary thing on my mind at any given time. It might not even be inaccurate to say that I measure my worth as a mother by the number of ounces I can turn out in a day. It's that important to me- if I can't be at home with him, I can still be his source of nourishment. That's my trade-off.

In many ways I feel my breasts have taken over my life. Of course they've always been a big part of my life in that they used to be too small to fill bras and shirts... now they're quite the opposite. I'm now consumed with their non-aesthetic functions. It's only right. They've waited 29 years to have a purpose in my life other than to worry about future tumors or whether my shirts accentuated them. Now, they are front and center- quite literally.

I'm not saying that all I do for my son is make milk. While my husband is the day-parent, I'm essentially the night parent. I wear him in my ergo carrier while I make dinner. I let him lay on the kitchen floor or sit in his high chair while I prep meals or do the dishes. I dance with him. I talk to him. I read to him. I rock him. I sing to him. I give him his nightly pre-nap bath. I nurse him. It's our thing. I never really feel that I have enough time, because I'm wholeheartedly addicted to my kid. Seriously. Addicted.

Anyway, the milk thing.

I'm not going to judge the moms who supplement or switch entirely to formula. I understand, but for me, it's just not the way to go. I can't justify it because I don't know what's in it and like to know what I'm feeding my son. So, enter my little friend, a Medela Freestyle. I had borrowed an older Medela Pump-in-Style from a friend at work but couldn't control the suction enough and wasn't really able to get as much milk, so when the tax refund came in this year I upgraded. I must say though that pumping is an odd thing. Nursing was something I was okay with right off the bat. I struggled at first with getting his latch right, but I didn't feel weird about it.

Pumping... well, that's a different story. There's just no way to feel warm and fuzzy while sitting topless with plastic receptacles hooked up to your hooters and the groaning drone of the pump. The only thing I can think of to describe it is the awkward difference between making love and masterbation. It makes sense in my warped way of thinking. Nursing is equal to making love because there is skin-to-skin contact, eye contact, love, touch... I feel whole and wonderful while nursing. Pumping is equal to... you get the picture, right? With pumping there's no touch, there's plastic, visual aids, imagining holding the baby, and an odd mechanical feeling that has no soul. Both methods lead to release of chemicals and relief, but it's different with each. The emotion isn't really there with the pump. Plus there's that whole "I'm sitting topless in a little room at work" thing. Awkward, much?

I'm so lucky to work where I do, though. I work with women who didn't have the privilege or the space. I have friends who have had neither. Yet, here I am still feeling awkward as I sit in the little windowless lactation room just off the main ladies' bathroom, knowing that everyone knows I'm in there. And it's becoming harder to pump. Some days are awesome, this week, not so. I've been drinking Mother's Milk Tea two times a day, keeping my calories up, but it seems there might be a supply drop during the day. Yet another mystery to unravel.

I have polled my friends who have experienced similar things.

Well... I start a new tea this week.

-L.