Finding Joy

I have a confession.

I don’t like pumping. In fact, I might hate it. I can’t quite decide if it’s the act itself or the reason I have to do it. Probably both. Whatever the reason, I despise it.

6-8 times a day I hook myself up to my good old friend the breast pump and fill little bottles with milk. It takes time, a lot of time. It interrupts my sleep. Sometimes it’s uncomfortable. I mean there are a million reasons I hate it.

A week ago I was once again sitting in the hospital with the baby. Failure to thrive. This is new territory for me. My other babies were off the charts too, but for being large. Huge really. This peanut is off the chart, but in the other direction. For 6 weeks now I’ve been feeding her my breastmilk through a ng tube. Morning, afternoon, evening, overnight. I pumped, filled her bag, and fed her. Around the clock. Except it didn’t work and we wound up admitted for failure to thrive.

So they took her off of breastmilk and tried formula. I was devastated. Heartbroken really. You see, Felicity doesn’t interact much. She isn’t smiling much or playing with toys. I meet every need she has but there isn’t much in return. The one thing I felt like I was doing for her that was special is providing breastmilk.

After much trial and error we determined that the substance wasn’t the issue but rather where it went. So now she’s being fed directly into her intestine. 24 hours a day. And I’m pumping.

I hate pumping.

But still, 2 am you will find me pumping. I feel no obligation to do it. I hate it. Yet I still yearn to provide her with breastmilk as long as I am able. I’m learning through this experience to find joy in the little things. I despise pumping but find great joy in knowing that she is getting antibodies to help her tiny 9 pound body fight off germs. I find joy in knowing that my milk actually has more calories and fat than traditional formulas. I find joy in knowing that as she falls asleep her little body is being filled with my warm milk. Maybe it doesn’t matter to her, but it matters to me.

Yes, I despise pumping. But I’ll wake up every day, slip a flange into my Rumina tank, and being my day producing milk. I’m learning through this experience that you can hate something and love it at the same time. I’m learning that I can do anything. I feel no urge to stop, despite my feelings about the actual act of pumping, and if I do in the future, I will know that I gave it my all.

One minute, one hour, one day, one month, one year. Whatever you give, you gave it your all. Pump on mamas. Nurse on. Find joy to drive you, even if that joy is found in the most unlikely place.