The Lad eats three five-ounce bottles every day at daycare. I pump almost exactly 15 ounces every day. How does my body do that?
The daycare ladies report that The Lad is reluctant to take his bottles on Monday, presumably having been spoiled by two days of nothing but nursing. Alternatively, my boobs -- I suppose because they've been given a break from the pump -- almost always produce more on Monday.
Pumping at work is not as horrible as I imagined. Most days, my biggest complaint is having to lug around the extra baggage. Still, it is not as comfortable as nursing and I am amazed there are women who can solely pump. Sometimes when my milk lets down, I feel like the pump is trying to rip out my soul.
Partially disrobing at work has stopped seeming weird, which is weird in and of itself.
Also I had one mortifying moment, when I had to pump outside of the safe confines of the radio room, when someone knocked on the door and I thought I was going to get walked in on. The idea of a coworker seeing me topless is unappealing, but bearable. (Oh dear -- excuse the pun) The idea of a coworker seeing my bare boobs hooked up to the milking machine -- OMG. I would die. I know it's natural and I'm a freaking earth goddess, nourishing my child and all that, but still, NO. Breastfeeding is natural, pumping is not.
Some days the standing appointments with the pump makes me more productive and fits seamlessly into my day. Other days, I'm rushing around and zoning out during interviews to do mental calculations of when I'll have time to do it and wondering if I'll have to pump in the car and praying, as my boobs tingle, that I remembered to put nursing pad in my bra.
So far, I've never had to pump in a parking lot. Thank god.