“It’s no use crying over spilt milk.” A common phrase coined, no doubt, by someone who has never pumped.
I became a mom when I was quite young. At the tender age of 22, I was the only one of my group of friends to have started a family. I was oblivious to so much. The pains of pregnancy, the horrors of postpartum, and the sometimes treacherous journey that is breastfeeding. All of you breastfeeding Moms know what I’m talkin’ about. The painstaking task of squeezing your boobs to the point of tears, for sometimes mere droplets of freedom. It can be frustrating. It can be depressing. And it can straight up just fucking hurt!
Quite frankly…I had no idea what the hell I was doing.
Despite the initial struggles, I loved breastfeeding. The bond that I felt with my baby, the closeness. The built in excuse to sit down, snuggle him, stroke his fuzzy little head and watch season after season on Netflix. That time in my life is treasured…but the memories are not all heavenly.
The “let down” was my biggest hurdle. At that point I hadn’t even thought to invest in a breast pump. I would shove a nearby receiving blanket into my beige nursing bra to catch the letdown from the opposite breast. Considering the almost cruel amount of milk I had rockin’ in my knockers, the little blanket down my shirt really had no chance. Within five minutes my entire side was getting a hefty serving of my homegrown goodness. I like to call that my “cheese phase” for the simple reason that…I basically always smelled like aged cheddar.
Slowly my sleep deprived brain fog started to clear and I realized how ABSOLUTELY FUGGIN RIDICULOUS what I had been doing was. I’m almost too embarrassed to tell you my next solution…
I would hold a little cup up under my unused nipple to catch the booby dribbles.
Finally, I scooped up a breast pump. The most inexpensive one I could find (again…I was 22). It was cheap plastic and hurt like a motherfucker. Yet still…it was a revelation. A revelation, I tell you! The freedom! DAD CAN FEED! TAKE A TURN! I can sleep in chunks bigger than 2 hours! My boobs don’t need to reach lopsided Dolly Parton status. My life was my own again. I was a woman on the rise.
By the time my third baby arrived, I was a pro. I’d clean the kitchen with one hand, holding baby to my jubblies with the other. I would answer the door with tit out and smile on. I was a comfortable Mom, a confident Mom. Yet still…I hadn’t mastered the pump. A family of 5 on one income, it was a struggle buying groceries let alone “extras” like a breast pump. But…it was time. I went onto Kijiji and snagged myself my first double electric pump. (DISCLAIMER: Buying 2nd hand breast pumps is a BAD idea).
While a double breast pump was a massive improvement to my busty situation…the pump didn’t come without it’s drawbacks. The unit I was lugging around was…behemoth. A monster. Heavy as shit with more gears and parts than my fucking Honda. It took forever to hook up, and needed to be plugged in to the wall.
Alas. I survived. All of the joys and horrors of breastfeeding and pumping, and here I am. Only slightly worse for wear (my poor girls).
See, friends…here’s the thing. I was recently contacted by Medela. MEDELA! They want me. Silly face making, F bomb dropping, pasta burning ME to write for their Fall campaign.
Oh. And…they’re PAYING ME.
Can we just take a second to be stoked? Because this Mama needs a new bra…
While I’m over the moon at this opportunity to work with a world renowned company… I’m hesitant. I love connecting with my readers and friends. I love being real, and telling it like it is. The idea of trying to market something to you, or sell to you…makes me uneasy. I don’t like it. I want to feel a genuine connection to what I write about. I want to be proud of it, and know that in sharing it with you, you’ll be benefited, one way or another.
I sat down with my bestie the other day, and shared these concerns over Strongbow and poutine (hell yaaaa). I told her all about my idea for this post, how I would share all of the absurdities that I had been through in my breastfeeding and pumping journeys. Then I would somehow have to tie that all together by telling everyone about this product from Medela. I told her that I was excited for the opportunity, excited about the product…but apprehensive about the advertising side.
I just really don’t want to let you guys down.
You know what she said?
“Amie…do you think it’s a kick ass pump?”
“Well…ya, of course. I wish I’d had it from milk jug day 1!”
“…then why are you trippin’? It’s an awesome pump. You’re telling people about it, and helping them decide what they’re looking for. Isn’t that helpful? Isn’t that what friends do?Isn’t that your main objective for your blog?”
MAN…she’s a friggin champ. Her point is immaculate.
The product IS awesome!
GREAT suction power!
They sent me this gem in the mail. The Freestyle Double Electric Breast Pump. It is…the holy grail of breast pumps. My old pump? Like an…Aerostar minivan. This bad boy? A slick, fucking Camaro.
Research based, and the most popular among its lil Medela brethren, this sucker (literally) is a PTPA award WINNA! HELL YA SCIENCE. It works synergistically with the Calma feeding system and the MyMedela App to give you an awesome booby squeezing experience. Medela’s super fancy, patented 2-Phase Expression Technology is scientifically proven to produce more milk in less time. Because as moms…time saved is time banked for sleeping. Or folding laundry. Or re-watching Grey’s Anatomy. The Freestyle Double Electric is designed for frequent, daily use. Which isn’t even tricky to manage because it’s HANDS FREE! I didn’t even know that was possible. That actually makes me a little mad. How did I not know shit like this was out here?! It would have saved me so many awkward fumbly boob moments.
Motherhood is almost always terrifying, on so many levels. There’s no way you can know what to expect or how to handle it until you’ve been through it yourself. Having been through some serious shit (both metaphorically and literally) I feel obligated to share my hard earned lessons with the goddess Moms coming up behind me. So here it goes, a few of my top tips for new parents:
#1. Never play airplane with a freshly fed baby.
#2. Always wait at least 4 minutes post poo to change your baby’s diaper…although, even then, you’re not necessarily safe.
Last but not least, #3. Invest in a really good fucking pump.
You know what they say. Hindsight is 20/20.