Purists Pooh-Pooh: Pack Up the Pump

This past week there was a decision to be made about how to feed my baby going forward. Up to this point, I've been breastfeeding, and within the last six weeks have started the gradual process of introducing solids. When I am at work, which is about 20 hours a week, the baby drinks my milk from a bottle which has been previously pumped and frozen in one of the cute little clear and purple bags that says "My Mommy's Milk" on it. Most people who have children or work with someone who has an infant are familiar with "pump and freeze." At first,  I wondered about  my co workers who do not have children, and  what they would think of the little pouch of pale liquid sitting in the mini fridge.  I was a bit embarrassed at the thought of putting evidence in plain sight that my breasts had been hooked to a ridiculous looking machine and milked like a cow. 'Can they hear it hissing over the bathroom fan?' I worried. 'Are they grossed out by how the fat separates and rises to the top like salad dressing?' I got over my modesty soon enough- having babies, it seems, tends to diminish ones modesty rather effectively- and was grateful to the inventor of the double breast pump, and to Lansinoh for their ingenious little freezer system.   

Fast forward a few months and my baby is now rolling over, sitting up, laughing, babbling, and eating a variety of liquefied fruits and veggies. In a mere instant, this time has elapsed. The days and weeks are blurred together, the details already fuzzy. One thing that's crystal clear, however, is the ongoing chore of pumping. At the risk of sounding like a complainer, I'll just come out and say, I really hate to pump, and I don't want to do it any more. But it's not that simple. If I stop, then I will have to give the baby formula when I'm working, for the next six months until she can have cow's milk.  Looking at my dwindling supply in the freezer I have felt pressure to continue pumping so that I don't have to change over to formula. I'll take a brief moment to explain something here: I mean to place no judgement on those who choose to give their babies formula. Period. Breastfeeding for 12 months is something that I chose to commit to with my first daughter, and now my second. The first time around, I made it the whole year with bags o' milk to spare in the freezer, never having to utilize formula for the gap between my pumped milk, and cow's milk. Having set this MOY standard for myself (yes, mother of the year,) with the first one, I now feel as though anything different is less than. I'm a purist, what can I say? I move furniture to vacuum underneath it, I spend forever chopping up teeny tiny pieces of garlic to cook with instead of buying the jar of minced garlic. I'm not trying to toot my over achieving horn here, because truthfully, It's a more burdensome quality than anything, and it doesn't always kick in either, (take my attention starved garden for example.)

What I've been forced to come to terms with is this: my frozen milk will be gone in a couple of weeks, and I simply cannot stand the thought of pumping my breasts one more time. I will have no other choice than to give my baby formula. I asked her doctor at her 6 month well-child-check how to go about it. She said matter of fact-ly, "Just introduce it like any other new food." I could have kissed her. It occurred to me then, that formula was not the enemy, and neither had been, apples, bananas, pears, sweet potatoes, carrots, peas or rice cereal, all foods that the baby had had, all foods that were not breast milk. 'Just because I give her formula doesn't mean that I'm going to stop nursing, or that the next six months of nursing don't count' I reasoned internally, 'and La Leche League isn't going to hunt me down and bang on my door in the middle of the night.' My own unreasonably high expectations for myself are the actual enemy. I'd be willing to bet most moms do this very same thing with one issue or another. I'm learning that finding balance between giving your children everything you possibly can, and maintaining your own sense of self and sanity is essential. I'll have to let some things go, plain and simple, and I have a feeling I'd better get used to prioritizing my perfectionist tendencies because real life with a growing family will demand it. Honestly, I felt nothing short of utter relief purchasing Similac and jubilation as I packed up my tired pump. So long purist! I think next, I'll buy some minced garlic.