Friday, August 20, 2010

So...The procrastination begins or continues however you look at it.

I had made up my mind that I needed a more powerful and efficient pump for my return to work so I purchased the Medela Freestyle. I was so excited to get it off eBay brand bew, sealed in the box. I checked my eBay account daily so see when it would arrive and to see if the seller had maybe sent me a tracking code because let's face it that is an expensive purchase. Well on Tuesday my pump arrived!!! Hooray! It did come during nap time and the Fed-Ex guy did ring the door bell which set the dogs off, I ran as fast as I could to the door and tried to shush them on the way, didn't work. Sent my poor guy into a crying fit so I grabbed the package, ran up the stairs, got through the gate, set the package down and ran the rest of the way to his crib and tried to settle him and get him back to sleep. Not happening Mama. So the package that I was so excited to receive sat in the hall until later. Later turned into Wednesday, actually Thursday early 2am when I brought the pump into our sunroom which is the location of mission control and stared at it. Again I did not open the box and went to bed.

My little guy is going through a rough patch between teething and I think the beginning of the 6 month growth spurt he does not want to follow his usual sleep pattern, or return to sleep after he gets up for the third time at 6 am, so Mama sneaks him into bed with her and reminds Hubby not to roll over on us. 7:15 my alarm goes off, today is the day I'm bringing one of those noisy but beloved dogs to the vet for a lumpectomy to remove the sneaky cancerous tumor on her belly. (By the way surgery went well and she is home recovering with us, results to follow.) I ask Hubby nicely to return our son to bed since I can't reach my alarm from bed with the baby laying next to me. He does and I turn off the alarm and promptly fall back to sleep and over sleep waking with only 9 minutes to get to the vet! Ahh panic sets in. Luckily I fell asleep in sweats so I can grab the dog and run like heck to the vet. What's that I hear? My son, oh boy, "Daddy you are going to have to use some pumped milk to feed him I've got to run."

Run to the vet make it there with only minutes, two in fact, to spare. Make my excuses, sign the papers, say goodbye to my poor Panda (that's her name) and run like heck back home. I make it there just in time to feed me little one who has been changed and was about to get a bottle from my stash but instead can have the real thing. Another 4 hours go by with two more nursings and I have still to open that box!

Okay, I've already seen this episode of Vegas and Daddy is playing with our little man so now I'll open the box. Oh, the directions say I need to charge it for 24 hours, darn! I had all intentions of using it today. Who am I kidding? No I didn't. I'm having company today and I have a dog to pick up and a house and diapers to clean.

So here I am still in the middle of more then usual feedings and wakings, haven taken the 'semi-professional' photographs my sister-in-law needed me to take, my dog home resting in quarantine from her best friend, Dory and our three cats, who sometimes use her as a chew toy, isn't that backwards? Shouldn't the dogs chew the cat not the other way around? Oh well it apparently works for them.

But again, don't I have a deadline? Wouldn't it be smart for me to have a stash of more then 6 bottles for my son for when I return to work? I only get three times to pump during work. I think I am going to try to pump on the way to and from work, though that may not work out. Isn't it strange that I have no problem nursing in public but I feel an overwhelming tug of modesty about pumping? Is it that if I'm nursing I feel more normal, like I can still participate in human interaction but when I have a machine attached to my breasts I feel I should run and hide in a closet? So I better get off my butt tomorrow during his nap and try out this new pump and get a few more ounces squirreled away in our freezer. Not sure how many bottles would make me feel comfortable though? A weeks? Well I better get moving if I want to get anywhere near that number.

That's our Panda on her way home.

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