Breastfeeding

From the time I found out I was pregnant with my first, I knew I wanted to breastfeed. I had no experience with it; I knew next to nothing, except that it had a lot of benefits for my baby, and I wanted to try it.

I took the class. I learned the things. But I was not prepared for it, mentally and emotionally. It was strange and beautiful…and not as easy as I thought it would be.

While still in the hospital, we struggled with latching. I was given a nipple shield by the lactation consultant—something I had never heard of in the breastfeeding class. Something that ended up being really helpful, and that, unbeknownst to me, would be a part of our entire breastfeeding journey.

Things didn’t magically get easier when we came home. Not only was I exhausted, but as a first time mom, I was getting used to the urgency with which I felt my child needed me. I felt like I was married to the clock—every two hours, every three hours—nurse, diaper, sleep, repeat. And then there was witching hour. And cluster feeding. And the position that had been working didn’t seem to be working anymore. And that damn nipple shield felt like a real pain in the ass.

Not to mention the engorgement. Living life half-dressed. Learning to be okay with whipping my boob out in front of friends and family. The loss of autonomy to my body. The leaking. So much leaking. Fitting the Haakaa over the other boob so the milk wouldn’t leak or spill. Spilled milk. Storing the milk. Figuring out physical storage for the milk. Being so tired that the thought of taking the milk to-be-stored downstairs in the middle of the night almost made me cry. Crying. Going into the kitchen the next morning only to discover the meant-to-be-stored milk was left on the counter.

And all of this on top of the typical new mom feelings and acquainting our old pre-kid life with our new kid-filled life.

So I sought help. From a postpartum nurse friend. From a lactation consultant. From our pediatrician. And I’m so glad I did. Our ped noticed the Everett had torticollis and referred us to a physical therapist. The PT was able to help us with not only his neck but breastfeeding as well. Eventually, it began to feel easier—not every time, but in general.

And then there was pumping.

I went back to work when Everett was 14 weeks old. Which felt traumatic enough as it was. Chelsey got to stay home with him for another month, and I so desperately wanted to stay there with them. Back to work also meant pumping, which in itself was not a big deal. The way it was handled, however, has left me with a great deal of anxiety.

Under the federal Fair Labor Standards Act (FLSA), employers must provide breastfeeding employees with reasonable break time and a private lactation space for one year following a child’s birth. “Reasonable break” accounts for biology—women vary in the frequency and time with which they need to pump. The “lactation space” cannot be a bathroom and must be free from intrusion.

As a teacher, figuring these things out felt a little complicated—partially because I knew I would need someone to cover my class. My boss said, “Let me know what you need.” Great—I replied that I needed coverage and and a place to pump. The response? “Okay, let me know what you need.” Hadn’t I just done that? I suppose FLSA doesn’t explicitly state that your employer has to arrange these things, but I hadn’t expected to be completely on my own.

My school building was old. No AC, old. Wood paneling, old. No built-in storage, old. And no lactation space, old. When I went back to work, we were also just transitioning back from virtual learning. Students had to eat lunch in the room, which meant I would only have my own classroom to myself for an hour a day during their specials block.

I figured I would need to pump 3 times a day—once before school, once at lunch, and once during my prep. The soonest I could get to school was about 7:55, and the kids came in at 8:25. Between setting up, pumping, and cleaning up, pumping in my own classroom was not an option. So for the morning pump, I tucked in the corner of a classroom of a colleague who didn’t have kids that year, as she was in a coaching role. She would continue her normal work during this time, which I didn’t mind. Occasionally, other teachers would come in to consult with her—again, didn’t mind. But boy did my boss seem uncomfortable the two times he stopped in to say good morning to her, forgetting that this was my “lactation space”—altogether, not exactly intrusion free. Additionally, my boss emailed me to let me know that I needed to be in my classroom at a certain time. “Reasonable break”? I had arranged for someone to be in my room as the kids got settled, and I did everything I could to be there asap, but apparently, that wasn’t good enough.

My second pump of the day—my lunch time pump—involved me leaving my classroom a few minutes before the kids and returning a few minutes after they were back. The lunch/recess period had been reduced from 50 minutes pre-Covid to 30. For this pumping session, I was a guest in another colleague’s classroom, because her students were virtual. This colleague also happened to be one of my best friends, so there was a different level of comfort there, and it was also more "intrusion-free”. The trickiest part of this arrangement was working with the teachers who were covering my class as their schedules were prone to sudden change; luckily it didn’t happen often. But if they were ever absent, I also had to work out alternative coverage. Or alternative pumping locations, in the case of my gracious colleagues being absent.

My final pump of the day was normally able to be done in my own classroom. The downside here was that I attended any meetings virtually with my camera off, which felt incredibly isolating.

The greatest relief came when the school year ended and I no longer had to pump.

The following fall, my supply was decreasing and I was working on weaning from pumping. I’d like to say that my last pump was bittersweet, but it was mostly just sweet. I was so happy to be done. My anxiety from the entire experience had really made me bitter about being at work (along with already being amidst some of the toughest years on teaching on record).

So as you can imagine, I carry quite a bit of anxiety with me as I head into the final trimester with baby number 2, knowing that I am once again planning to breastfeed. I am hoping for a little smoother journey from the start. I am also devastated to know I will be going back about a month sooner than I did with Everett, so our establishing and settling in period is going to be shorter. Due to accepting a new job, I don’t qualify for FMLA or short-term disability. Financially, 12 unpaid weeks just isn’t possible for us. Chelsey has no paternity leave either (seriously, U.S—GET IT TOGETHER).

That being said, I am excited for all the new and wonderful aspects of my new position. The building has AC, built-in storage space, and no wood paneling! But here’s what I am most excited for: it has a mother’s room. A mother’s room! A “lactation space” as FLSA would call it. An intrusion-free space where I can go and pump and not worry about being walked in on or displaced. This alone relieves so much of the built up anxiety I have regarding returning to work after leave and pumping at work! While it will still be hard to leave my possibly 10 week old baby (SERIOUSLY, AMERICA), knowing there is a space for me there to provide for my baby helps to soften the blow.

Happy World Breastfeeding Week. Big big love to all the mamas who have nourished their baby in whatever way they could—if you fed ‘em, you did it right. If you would like to share a story with me, please email me at themamaonthereal@gmail.com I look forward to hearing from you soon!