Mother's Milk

I have posted before about how much I enjoy breastfeeding, but I need to post about it again, because this week brought about a classic case of not knowing what you have until it is taken away.

Due to one of the greatest modern inventions of the 20th century - the electric breast pump - going back to work full-time no longer necessitates the end of breastfeeding. I have spent this past week at work taking a break every two-and-a-half hours to pump milk, taking it home at the end of the day and bottling it for Matthew the next day.

That is, until Wednesday night, when something tragic put an end to my udder bliss. I won't go into detail, but suffice it to say I am now of the belief that latex and lube should always be sold in bundles.

Thursday morning I made an important stop at the pharmacy for the so-called "morning-after pill", to put an urgent stop to the immediate expansion of Matthew's family tree. I inquired with the pharmacist whether it was safe to take while breastfeeding. As the line of people behind me grew ever longer, he explained to me that even though the drug doesn't indicate a warning, it includes a strong dose of estrogen and I should probably consult my gynocologist on the matter. One hesitant phone call later and my doctor's nurse directed that I should probably "pump and toss" for the next couple of days. Stubbornly refusing to accept defeat, I put in a second call to Matthew's pediatrician, who indeed confirmed that the drug would not be safe for my baby boy.

I was heartbroken. As if it weren't enough that we were already in the midst of our first week apart from each other. The dreaded guilt of a working mom was immediately compounded. The morning and evening feedings had just become our own special time to literally reconnect! My first visit to his daycare center was during my lunch hour and specifically designed to include breastfeeding; to remind him that I was still close by and would never abandon him. Now, because of our birth control FAIL, my little handsome man would be getting nothing but a bottle until this forty-dollar drug could work its magic. And even THAT was only going to happen on a prayer.

I swallowed my pride and followed both doctors' orders, and Matthew has been happily accepting the bottle at every feeding, getting everything he needs. I try not to pout about that, and am happy that my baby is adjusting well to the new routine. Obviously the separation anxiety is mostly mine to bear, and I am doing fine in all honesty. Although I must admit, I would much rather be walking him to the park, doing tummy time on my bed, or putting him down for a nap at any given point during my work day. The closeness I experienced with him is now reduced to 10-minute pumping sessions in the breakroom, as I gaze at his newborn photo and massage out every last drop of elixer gold.

It's been nearly 48 hours since I took the second dose per the directions, and I am giddy with excitement to breastfeed him this evening. All of the pumping I've been doing this week (and especially the last couple days) has trained my breasts to fill more completely and frequently every few hours, and I am more confident than ever that he will be able to enjoy breastmilk only for the next many weeks, if not months. My goal is to continue breastfeeding until he is at least 6 months old, but now that I've experienced what it's like not to do it, I may end up going longer. Yes, it is a sacrifice, as I can't drink as often as others and there is some public awkwardness occasionally. But I don't know how so many mothers can voluntarily go without having this experience. For the closeness I experience with my baby, especially in this time of separation, right now I wouldn't give up breastfeeding for anything.