You saw nothing. You especially didn’t see me hiding in my office with my milking sign still on the door.
Guys, the milking. It’s killing me. (Sidenote: The ‘k’ on my keyboard has decided not to work. Except for when it does, which is just often enough for me to forget that it often doesn’t. Until it doesn’t.)
So, are you ready to talk about pumping some more? And about how frustrated I am about it? Yeah, me neither.
But you guys, the miling milkking sweet jeebus is there a cheeto under the key or what? Oh now it works. Twice.
ANYWAY. Pumping is making me crazy. Back when I first returned to work, in April, I was a milk fountain. Paint me red and call me Bessie–we were throwing milk out because it was going bad before he got to it, but I didn’t care because the road went on forever and the party never ended.
Through the summer, I hardly ever used my pump. I didn’t notice too much of a drop-off; I only needed it for a bottle or two here and there so I wasn’t concerned.
Then I came back to work and noticed I was pumping in a day (2-3 sessions) what I used to pump in one session.
Just like that, my supply dropped by at least fifty percent. I was making about 12 oz in two sessions. See that past tense there? Yeah.
This week I’ve gotten about eight ounces.
That’s 1 1/3 bottles. He takes three bottles at daycare. Thanks to a night session and a morning session, I can usually scrape together the rest of it, but sometimes I don’t.
That means when I accidently spill a tiny fraction of an ounce, I cry. When one of the girls underachieves, I cry. I worry about how I’m going to make enough, if I’m going to make enough. I research new ways to get more boob for my buck. I stress about how stress is affecting my supply.
Last night I watched a video about hand expression and added that to my routine. The video was very convincing, with graphs and examples illustrating how much more was produced when the mom added the hands-on element.
Today I spent twenty extra minutes pumping. I did the techniques correctly; I extracted a similar amount that the ‘model’ did in the video except for the part where she didn’t get it all over herself and nearby surfaces. She had a disembodied hand holding the breastpump thingie for her, which while immensely helpful just might have overstepped some personal boundaries in the workplace.
I got a grand total of an extra ounce for my trouble. I added at least twenty minutes to the undertaking, ended up with milk all over myself in various quantities, and my hands are still cramping up. I was on track for less than eight before that.
I have 8.5 oz (total) to show for my effort.
I do, however, have much more control over my squirting skills. I’m thinking of showing them off at the Halloween party we’re attending tomorrow night.