The Cow goes, "Moo."
In April of 2011 I was accepted into the Alternative Route to Licensure (ARL) program to teach English. Since I received my Bachelor’s Degree in Communication, I was required by the ARL program to go back to school to obtain my English major so I could be certified to teach English. For me, this means balancing mommy life with school life, both of which can be very challenging. At this intersection my story begins.
As part of my required coursework, I take a weekly road trip out to Nevada State College for my Principles of Modern Grammar class. This trip takes me just under an hour during rush hour traffic. Every time I arrive on campus I immediately have the urge to pee and have a snack, as if at a rest stop. Between the commute and the three hour long class-which never ends early- I am away from my home and family for approximately four and a half hours. Normally, this would not be a major problem, but I am currently breastfeeding, and that, complicates everything.
Breastfeeding, while necessary to my child’s growth and development, has not been my favorite part of motherhood. For some reason, God thought it appropriate to “bless” me with enough milk to feed quintuplets. While many mothers would be rejoicing at this over abundance, I wallow in engorged pain. I am constantly feeding Malia or pumping out and storing the excess milk she has not eaten. If I do not do either of these things I then have to face a number of issues: 1. Boobs that will leak at any given time (i.e. in front of your middle-aged, male neighbor), 2. Spraying my baby with milk once she does finally eat (in her eye, on her clothing, in her hair, etc.) 3. Developing rock hard knots in my breasts that must be massaged, or in many cases, punched out to prevent mastitis. In order to avoid any of these things happening, I must plan my day, as well as my feeds and pumping sessions accordingly.
This is all the milk that I have pumped since Malia was born. Holy cow!
To give you an example of my struggle, let me take you back to a week ago. I went about my day as usual: played with my kids, breastfed, watched a TV show with Mason, pumped, prepared a snack, breastfed, walked on the treadmill, pumped-you get the idea. At 4:15 my husband arrived as I was feeding Malia one last time before departing for my trek across the desert. Everything had gone as planned, which is why I was horrified when my milk began leaking in the middle of my class.
I got up to ask a friend to help clarify the assignment we were working on. As I got up from my seat I watched my milk come through my shirt and drop onto the floor. Since I had already spoken, I had the full attention of four people who looked wildly confused as I grasped my right breast. I froze. There I stood in the middle of the group searching my brain for possible ways out of this scenario.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity a thought came to me. The bathroom! Yes, the bathroom, that’s it. I raced out the door and down the hall trying to decide what I should do next. Knowing that I was 45 minuets from home, I needed to do something fast, otherwise it would be a much bigger problem later.
I had once watched a documentary about a pregnant mother who was in prison. She talked about what she would do once her baby arrived in regards to breastfeeding. Since the state prisons do not provide electric breast pumps, the prisoners are left to either manually pump, or express their milk by hand. This was fascinating to me! I had never actually thought about people expressing milk by hand, until watching this documentary. But, there I was, in the bathroom at Nevada State College thinking about the imprisoned mother and deciding that I too would attempt “milking” myself for the first time.
I would not suggest doing this, as it was a complete mess. Boob in hand I began. Instantly milk sprayed everywhere: the floor, toilet seat, the stall wall; everywhere. I could have fed five babies with the milk I shot out that night. By the time I was done I was soaked and freaking out over the fact that I still had to go back into my classroom, face my classmates and gather my belongings before heading home. So I did what any rational mother, soaked in her own breast milk would do: I used the electric hand dryer to dry my clothing. I squatted down to dry my shorts and shirt, wiped the remaining milk from my sandals and legs, took a deep breath and headed back to class. I gathered my things and got the hell out of there.
I am not really sure what went wrong that day, or why only one breast leaked. The only thing I can attribute it to is a growth spurt. Breastfeeding is about supply and demand. The more Malia eats, the more I produce. She had eaten a ton that day and I never thought twice about it until standing over the toilet in sheer confusion. That day I learned a few things: 1. Never leave home without your breast pump, 2. Make sure to bring a change of clothes and maybe some perfume during the stage of breastfeeding, 3. Always use a toilet seat cover. You never know what went down in that bathroom stall before you got there.
