Musings of Pumping Mom

It’s 1:17 AM and I’m sitting on the edge of my bed pumping. I’ve been running this routine for the past 13 weeks since my little girl was born April 10th, three months before her due date of July 11. I love the fact that I’ve been at this for over three months now and have been able to give my baby all breast milk through her NICU stay, but it doesn’t come worry-free.

I breastfed and pumped for my son eight years ago but only lasted three weeks. My postpartum depression and anxiety was so bad that the stress of it all killed my supply and I gave up. It was so painful and stressful to breastfeed and I didn’t feel like I was bonding with my baby boy. When I sat down with him to give him his first bottle of formula, it happened—the bond formed. He locked eyes with me and I finally felt so much in love with this tiny human.

With my daughter, it’s been a bit different. I lived in the hospital for a month before she was born due to a placenta abruption, and once she was born, I could only hold her once a day while she was under blue lights and heat lamps. I knew I loved this little girl, and when I finally got into a routine of kangaroo care, it was great, I but hadn’t quite felt the bond yet. The first time I was able to swaddle hold her and she locked eyes with me—it happened. I started to feel the bond with this little baby who I prayed every day would survive.

In June, when she was old enough and her O2 was low enough to start trying to breastfeed, the bond deepened. Our first few attempts were awkward and discombobulated, but once we both got comfortable, it was amazing. I laughed at her personality and how she would fight with my boob and then open her mouth looking for my nipple like it was prime rib. I teared up at how beautiful of a moment it was when she finally latched and started to nurse, and I worry that she’ll have such a hard time eating via breast or bottle and she’ll have to come home on her NG tube.

And just like that, it’s been 30 minutes. The pump turns off automatically and I cross my fingers it’s at least 60mL. I’m an under-supplier now that she’s taking a higher amount per feeding. I worry that I’m not eating or drinking enough of the right things to keep my supply up. I worry that I won’t keep up with her at some point and I’ll have failed her. These worries keep me up at night after the pump turns off and the parts are washed and put away and the milk is in the fridge. The one thing I don’t have to worry about is knowing that whether or not I can keep up with her, I have a great fiancée that supports me in my breastfeeding journey and loves the hell out of our little girl.

Well, off to wash the parts, put the milk in the fridge, and try to keep the worries quiet so I can get some sleep before the next pumping session.