Apple Dumplings by Virginia Howes

Because my funbags are food bags for my funny bug: (thanks to Arwyn at Raising my Boychick for the link)

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"Selling" breast milk

From the weekly Our365 email I get about my baby's development (courtesy of the people who took newborn photos in the hospital):

Yes, of course. You'd find it right next to the gallons of blood and sperm.

First of all, we don't package and sell breast milk as if it were, say cow's milk. It's distributed by donor milk banks, you know, same as we do with blood. And sperm. 

Because there are so few donor banks (and the requirements are so strict -- I can't donate milk because I'm on antidepressants that are safe to take while nursing, but those meds prohibit me from donating), and because the fees to use donated milk are so steep and insurance companies put so many restrictions on who is "worthy" of receiving the little human milk there is available, some moms contribute to programs like Eats on Feets, or share their milk informally with a mom friend in need.

Yes, there have been instances of moms asking for a fee for this service (I don't have any links, but I saw people asking about it on one of the birth/parenting Facebook pages I follow, so it must have happened, at least once...), but it's not a money-making business, as Kristina C. makes it sound. It's "donating breast milk," not "selling" it.

And, Kristina C., if you're going to use an analogy... well... use the analogy. We donate and distribute human breast milk same as we do human blood or sperm: through banks, with medical screenings, and you must apply to receive the product. We don't sell blood or sperm at Stop & Shop either, so if your child is bleeding out after a car wreck, are you going to refuse the blood transfusion that could save hir life?

I Hate Pumping

I hate pumping. I love breastfeeding, but I hate pumping.

Even when I get irritated because I'm trying to DO something (wash diapers, edit photos, defeat the evil demons of the overgrown inbox) and baby wants to eat AGAIN, I still love breastfeeding. I get to hold my baby, and give him something special. And he usually falls asleep at the boob, and I have a sleeping baby which is the sweetest sight in the world. Even if it means I can't get up to pee when I really, really have to go. (Who am I kidding? Not being able to pee is nothing. I have eight years of classroom-teaching training, my bladder doesn't even notice until it's gone a full 12 hours before being emptied.)

But pumping?

Ugh.

To breastfeed, all I have to do is lift up my shirt, unhook my bra, and attach baby.

To pump, I have to get my pumping bag, take out the cooler of baby milk bottles, attach the bottles to the pump shields, attach the shields to the pump tubing, plug in the pump, loop the rubber-band-dealies around my bra so they hold the pump shields, correctly position the shields on my nipples so my nipples aren't rubbing on the shields on the top, bottom, or sides, then start the machine. WEE-ooh-WEE-ooh-WEE-ooh... for twenty minutes.

Oh, before I do all that, I have to lock my office door, put a sign outside the door, cover the window with paper -- and that's because my boss is nice enough to let me pump in my office, instead of trekking all the way to the Student Health Center in the other building (which cuts into my pumping time, especially since I have to pack everything up each time; in my office I can leave the machine plugged in, at least, and I leave the tubing sort of draped over the bag, instead of stuffing it all back into its compartment each time).

If I don't pump every 3-4 hours, I tend to get clogged ducts. WHICH ARE NOT FUN. Especially when they don't want to unclog.

Even when I have to stop what I'm doing to breastfeed, I can still DO stuff while breastfeeding. I can still participate in a conversation. Or watch TV. Or even edit photos, or follow Twitter, or chip away at the frighteningly overgrown weedfest I like to call my email inbox. I have to do these things mostly one-handed, but I can still do them.

Pumping at work, on the other hand?

Everything has to come to a screeching halt. While I'm connected to my dairy-farm equipment I can't move freely, because the tubes are only so long and they're always in the way anyway and the bottles may spill and, well, I'm basically topless.

And there's no "reward." When you breastfeed, you are feeding a baby. A sweet, beautiful baby who looks at you and smiles and is happy to be there. When you pump? WEE-ooh-WEE-ooh-WEE-ooh... (After a while, it starts talking to you. Seriously. But it's just the same word, over and over... and it's usually a word that doesn't make any sense, but it keeps repeating it... and you can't NOT hear it...)

I know my coworkers talk about me. About all the time I'm not working because I'm in my office pumping. (I know because I hear them. And because they tell me to my face. How I'm "weird" because I do "all that stuff" that "regular" moms don't do. I'm not entirely sure what "all that stuff" exactly means, but there you go. Regular, normal moms, even ones who breastfeed, don't do "all that stuff" that I do when I pump. I'm just special, I guess. Or asking for special treatment. Or something.)

So not only do I not want to stop what I'm doing to pump, because it's a pain, but I also don't want to close my door to pump because I know that's right when someone is going to want to ask me something, and I'm going to be half-naked with my dairy-farm equipment strapped on, and I'm going to inconvenience that person by not being available. And, you know, because I'm lazy.

The worst part is that we take the kids on trips and things. And we have one of those trips coming up this week. We're going to be out with the kids all day -- from very early in the morning until very late at night.

And I have to go, as a chaperone, because it's part of my job and because they need lots of chaperones.

And I want to go, because it'll be a fun trip. I haven't seen the kids much lately, and I miss them. I like hanging out with them.

But guess what! I'm going to have to pump, every 3-4 hours, while on the road. Do you have any clue just how royally THAT is going to suck? (Er... no bad pun intended...)

I don't even know exactly how it's going to work: where I'm going to pump. I guess that'll depend on where we are, where we can stop, where there's a sink... There isn't a way to plan, really, so we'll just see when we get there.

But if it sucks this much to step away and "hide" in my little office to pump when we're just sitting around doing paperwork, how much is it going to suck when I have to leave the group of students I'm supposed to be chaperoning to find a hidey-hole where I can pump when we're traipsing across a college campus with our herd of high schoolers?

I guess this is one of the reasons so many moms quit breastfeeding early, huh?

Breastfeeding is "icky." Didn't you know?

The Leaky Boob posted this link on Facebook, and I had to share, because it highlights some important truths.

The article talks about Irish women (and doctors, and onlookers), but it applies pretty darn accurately to USians, no?

Some points of note:

Bottles and the infant formula inside them had to be better than anything a woman's body could make because you had to buy them. And Irish people like buying things.

Of course, we all know that if we buy it, it must be superior. The more expensive the better. That free crap that comes out of my boobs? Must be cat piss.

Oh, wait... except for this:

Breastfed infants suffer fewer tummy and chest infections, fewer urinary tract infections, fewer ear infections, less eczema and less asthma than bottle-fed ones. They have less risk of having diabetes, Hodgkin's Disease and possibly leukaemia. In adulthood, they have less chance of getting late-onset diabetes, high blood pressure and obesity. Mothers who breastfeed have less chance of developing pre-menopausal breast cancer, ovarian cancer and osteoporosis.

Huh. THAT IS SO WEIRD. Because, as we all know,

...anything a woman can do for herself isn't worth doing.

I mean, seriously, folks! Women are inherently inferior, remember?

Ladies, remember, the only thing your body is capable of is pleasing men sexually, 'mkay? And, really, nothing kills a cis hetero guy's mojo like seeing your boobs used for their God-intended purpose. Priorities, people!

I mean, how can you reasonably expect someone to NOT stare at something they find odd, unusual, or even gross? How can you possibly expect others to have enough self-control to look away of their own volition? As if they were grown-ups who knew how to solve their own problems?

Really, ladies! These people can't help it! They can't control who or what they stare at! Be reasonable, please, and stop being so selfish. Cover up. Your baby needs to learn to sacrifice hir needs for the comfort of others. (Especially if your baby is a girl. Let's get these lessons in early!)

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go make a nursing cover. I want to make sure it looks nice, so I think I'll decorate it with images my husband's Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. It has such pretty pictures, don't you agree?

Kitteh approves of breastfeeding.

This? A beautiful sight. PERIOD.

Related articles

• Surgeon General Urges Support for Breastfeeding (women.webmd.com)
• Surgeon General Pushes Breast Feeding (abcnews.go.com)
• Surgeon General: Breastfeeding Should Be Less Hassle (huffingtonpost.com)

"American Family Values" At Work: Working Breastfeeding Moms Don't Need Breast Pumps

There are not enough cuss words in the English language for me to express my opinion on this. Go read the article, Jodi does a much better job of discussing this rationally than I could:

IRS Fears Women May "Abuse" Tax Credits for Breastfeeding Supplies | RHRealityCheck.org

Freddy and I were planning on using his flex spending health care account thingie money to buy a breast pump, especially since he needs to spend the money by the end of the year and doesn't have anything else to spend it on. But I guess that's just trying to ABUSE THE SYSTEM!!!

Maybe I should just quit my job so I can feed my child as God and nature intended -- with breastmilk, not some chemical substitute. Of course, that would mean Freddy and I would have to go on some sort of government assistance program. That's a much better option, right, IRS?

Gotta love American Family Values: YOU MUST CARRY THAT PREGNANCY TO TERM!!! THAT LIFE IS SACRED!!

Until it comes out of the womb (i.e., becoming an ACTUAL life). Then, we'll screw you any way we possibly can...

On Parasites and Choice

Behold! The last vestige of Troy Emmitt's parasitehood.
The umbilical cord stump fell off this morning, which caused much rejoicing for Freddy and me because we were a little freaked out that it might have gotten infected. We noticed some greenish-yellowish crusty stuff on The Boy's onesie and at the top of his gDiaper, and looking at the cord stump itself it has some yellowish-greenish goo in it. Didn't exactly look like pus, but it didn't exactly look healthy, either...
We had not been cleaning the stump because the hospital hadn't said we had to, and my books said you could clean it or leave it alone. However, the presence of goop prompted an emergency trip to the store to buy some alcohol (er... for cleaning, not drinking).
After a while we noticed that the stump looked... less attached. So maybe it wasn't infected, it was just detaching. Which was a MUCH preferable situation.
(Plus, it just looked so yucky. And it icked me out every time I had to change his diaper.)
Then, this morning, Freddy showed me The Boy's clean and clear (and not infected) belly button. Whee! The stump was gone!
Freddy asked if I wanted to keep it. Part of me wanted to throw it away, because it was yucky and it had caused me stress. But part of me felt sentimental, and wasn't ready to throw away that nasty, crusty, dried-up stump.
It was, after all, the source of his life force for 39 weeks and two days. (A life force he sucked out of me, like a good little parasite.)
Now, he still sucks his food source from me, but that's because I CHOOSE to breastfeed him. If I wanted to, I could let him have a bottle and let Freddy or one of the Grandmas take over; breastfeeding is borderline torture right now because my nipples are cracked from a bad latch I keep thinking I can fix myself. It kinda sorta seems like it's getting better, but then at the next feeding the pain when he latches on is so fierce I'm surprised I don't draw blood each time I bite my lip.
But I keep doing it. I keep letting him feed off me, I keep letting my day revolve around his needs and his feeding schedule, even though it's wearing me out mentally and emotionally and taking its toll physically -- even though I have such an easy out, now that he's no longer inside of me, attached by the umbilical cord.
Because I WANT to breastfeed him. See how this works? I CHOOSE to put up with the sh!t and pain and "minor inconveniences" because it's for something I WANT. Some people would make a different choice when faced with this same situation -- some people would make the same choice as I when faced with a worse situation; some would make a different choice when faced with a less challenging situation.
This doesn't make any of us "better" people than the others, it just makes us people who exercise our God-given free will.