I think I understand what it’s like to be a guy. I haven’t started grilling or watching NASCAR, but I have become preoccupied with a certain part of the female anatomy. It’s embarrassing to admit, […]
I think I understand what it’s like to be a guy. I haven’t started grilling or watching NASCAR, but I have become preoccupied with a certain part of the female anatomy. It’s embarrassing to admit, but a lot of my time revolves around boobs. Not all boobs. Just my boobs. It’s only since I started breast feeding that I suddenly notice I’m feeling myself up in the frozen food aisle at Whole Foods. These lactating days, I don’t need to wear a watch because my time is divided into two parts: Baby Time and Breast Pumping Time. So far, my breasts are more scheduled than my baby.
Just two weeks ago, my little one and I took our first flight home to visit my parents and grandparents. (See previous blog for travel tips) This trip was a big deal as I was consumed with avoiding any crisis while traveling with my baby. I was so preoccupied with The Kid that I forgot to check the battery on my breast pump.
For those moms with boobs that use them to feed their kids, I can hear a collective *GASP*. For those moms with kids that don’t really latch, pumping on a schedule is what needs to happen for baby to eat and mom to stay healthy. For those moms with breast pumps that have a failed battery on a plane when you need to pump, you know the panic that rises up from your stomach immediately making your breasts overproduce.
Options for relief are few, but not limited to:
1. Leaving the baby with your travel companion to go hand express yourself in the tiny bathroom
2. Leaving the baby with your travel companion to go try and place your rock-hard breast under the tiny hot tap water in the tiny bathroom
3. Asking your travel companion to accompany you to the bathroom for some …assistance.*
4. Ask a flight attendant for help
I chose option #4.
Luckily, the plane was parked at the gate as we were waiting for others to board during our stopover. The female flight attendant allowed me to leave the plane (leaving the baby with my travel companion) to charge the pump in the terminal. At the proper time, with proper charge and back on the plane properly shrouded, I was able to properly pump.
Travel crisis #1 averted.
Then, we had to overcome crisis # 2: Changing explosive diapers in that tiny bathroom. With Turbulence. Yeesh.
*Option #3 isn’t truly an option unless you find yourself a character in a Judd Apatow movie—then it is a guaranteed plot point.