An Ode to the End of Pumping
Pumping breastmilk is kind of awful. Beyond the discomfort and total time-suck, it's also really dehumanzing. (It's also one of the reasons that MIT has started looking for a better solution).
However, for many moms, pumping is a necessity if they want to feed their child breastmilk and still work/have a life/have more than 2 hours away from their child. As a result, many moms have spent some seroius quality time with the breastpump, myself included.
That's why when I saw the talented Meghan Pluimer's poem about being done with pumping, I had to share it. I've had the honor to know Meghan "virtually" through a great online community, so I was thrilled to hear her news that today was her last day of pumping after a full year! I'd try to pick a favorite part, but I think it's all my favorite part. Congrats to Meghan on being done with her pump, and happy Friday to everyone!
My pump, oh my pump! It’s been quite a year. I’ve longed for this moment, And now it is here. It’s time, my companion, For you to kick the bucket. I’ll pay you some tribute, But then you can SUCK IT.
It’s true, you were crucial to meeting my goals, But you forced me to sit topless Staring at my fat rolls. Yes, you sucked out the milk The best you knew how, But you made me feel ugly And much like a cow.
You’re awkward to carry And heavy as lead. When pump time would near I would feel sick with dread. Then I’d sit there in misery Anxiously watching those drips, As you tugged and you pulled And destroyed my poor nips.
I’d massage my damn boobs ‘Til my poor thumbs were sore, Feeling mortified that my peers Were just outside my door. And that inevitable anxiety As my stomach would sink: Would I pump enough today For my baby to drink??!!
So goodbye to pumping, Goodbye to all that lost time, Goodbye to bulk fenugreek From Amazon Prime. Goodbye to nipple shields slipping And sounding like farts. GOODBYE WASHING AND WASHING AND WASHING PUMP PARTS.
Goodbye to you, frenemy, And all that you are. I’ll feel lighter each morning As I walk to my car. I hope to think of you never And won’t miss you one bit. So goodbye forever. (Or until the next kid).