milkin' time

Sometimes I take a gander back in time here. What was life like when Willa was the same age that Henry is now?

And it was about this time that I started to loathe the breastpump. We have a complicated relationship; I respect it, as it allows me to gather milk to feed Henry while we're miles apart. But at the same time that woosh/hoosh over and over haunts me. I'm tired of remembering where I put the wall cord or the car adaptor.* I'm at the point of frustration when what comes out will not provide enough for the next day. I've got a call in to the doctor to see when she might consider okaying cow milk for a quite large and healthy fella.

Like my experience with Willa, I'll be nursing until we're both ready to be done. Assuming he'll be ready to wean before he's able to ask for it in sentences... But the pumping sessions are numbered, and I can't wait to be done. In the meantime, I have fantasies that look similar to this. That's right, I'm ready to go gangsta on the breastpump. I'm one badass mother...



*Should you see me on the road, don't look too closely, as I may be woosh/hooshing my way down the highway. Drive time = prime pump time.