B**bs

Pumping at work is an adventure. I want to continue breastfeeding my daughter, so I have to pump at work to keep up supply and provide a bottle to daycare for the next day—not that the child actually takes a bottle, but that is another story.

Right before school started, I awkwardly asked the chair of my department, a fairly enlightened dude, if he had any idea where I would be able to pump. He suggested the bathroom in the faculty lounge. I felt like pumping in the bathroom might be a little gross, but on my first day, I dutifully went down to the faculty lounge to check out the facilities.

No chair. No plug. No pumping.

I ran to the principal’s assistant, who unlocked the counselor’s office for me to use. It was nice and comfortable, but I watched the door like a hawk, frightened that this counselor, who I hadn’t met yet, might decide to come to work for a little pre-planning. Thankfully, she didn’t. She’s a super nice lady, but nobody really wants to make a first impression under those conditions.

It has gotten better. By the odd stroke of luck, I ended up with an office (Yes, I still do not yet have my own classroom—in my seventh year of teaching. I’ve got to stay in one place for more than three years!) that happens to have a utility closet. I share said office with a colleague who has a baby and who also pumped at work all last year. Fantastic! I’m so grateful that I don’t have to feel embarrassed or like I am infringing on her office space when I pump.

But it is still hard to manage my time with my new at-work responsibility, especially because I am sort of teaching six out of seven classes. As often as I can, I go to yearbook during one of my planning periods because I am assisting with the book. I try to pump during lunch, hence my penchant for watching edtech conference podcasts in my little closet.

There are hazards though.

The other day while in mid-pump, the fire alarm rang out. My officemate, who happened to be teaching in the attached classroom, ran in to turn off the office light and lock the door so that I could hide out. She promised to send someone for me if it turned out to be a real alarm.

Another time, I pumped during lunch and didn’t have time to run down to the fridge in the faculty lounge before the bell, so I stopped by another colleague’s classroom because she has a mini-fridge in her room. Unfortunately she hadn’t gotten back to her classroom yet when the bell rang, so before really thinking, I handed my precious bottle of milk to a random student waiting outside the teacher’s room and asked her to put it in the fridge. When I swung by at the end of the day to pick up the bottle, the teacher laughingly told me that the student approached her with the bottle and quietly whispered a question:

“Ms. English Teacher, was that breastmilk?”

“Yes, Sweet Student, it was.”

“Oh...”

Now when you read about Siddhartha’s dream where Govinda turns into a woman, and Siddhartha drinks from her breast, you will understand what is going on—unlike my sophomore class that was very confused and appalled by that scene.

You’re welcome for bringing you the facts of life. 

 

 

 

 

Comments

[www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=734100224]

This sounds bad but I always said if I had to go back to work, I would rather give my kid formula than pump. It seems like a huge hassle...

[molsen]

I sympathize with you and the tedious pumping at work saga. I did for both of my babies, the last is still nursing but off the pump and bottle. Wait until that happens, oh joy! I recall having to rearrange my classroom design so my desk could sit near an electrical outlet by the computer and away from window views. I am lucky to be on the 2nd floor of my building at least. Don’t give up! The end will be here before you remember starting the process. Your daughter will be eternally grateful you thought of her enough to go to the trouble of pumping at work. Not always, if ever, fun, but at least it affords some nice alone time!

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