Got (Breast) Milk

Did I ever tell you about the time my boobs became bricks? And that I had to milk myself in the women’s restroom at school?

No?

Looks like it’s story time!

Back in March when I was what one would consider an obvious nursing mom (“obvious” because I stained everything from my shirts to the bed sheets) I had to go to school for an exam. My sister had a play to watch at the same time as my exam so we left the house together. Admittedly I did have a feeling, a tiny feeling, that I should nurse Aiman one more time before leaving, or at least pump a little bit.

But I ignored it because we were planning to be back in two hour’s time.

And because I’m an idiot.

Now, of course with traffic plus the distance and time spent walking, oh and how my sister’s play was not an hour long like she thought it was going to be and was something like THREE WHOLE HOURS long, two hours’s time was more like four-ish.

I completed my exam and headed to the library to wait for her, all the while thinking that she was already there. But no, she wasnt. I got a text from her reading that it’ll be about two more hours. Normally I wouldn’t mind because I could do all of my wasting-time-on-the internet-business in the library that I wouldn’t have time to do at home….

But not when my breasts are solidifying with milk.

With every half hour that passed, another part of my boobs hardened with stuffed milk ducts begging for relief. Oh and let me not understate the pain associated with engorged breasts, because engroged breasts are only a gentle breath away from exploding. Does anyone want to see what an explosion of blood, fat tissue, and milk everywhere looks like? No, I doubt anyone does.

After two hours I couldn’t take it anymore so I walked to the vending machine literally bracing myself because a jiggle here or a accidental brush there would’ve been the end of me. Remember that bloody and milky explosion I mentioned? This would’ve been the time.

I bought a bottle of water and emptied it when I got to the restroom. I grabbed the largest stall and sat there on the toilet as I hand expressed my milk into the water bottle. At this point I can’t even find the right words to describe the relief, but it was such sweet, sweet REFLIEF!

At the end of my session, the 16 oz. bottle was filled. What can I say? I was a cow. A cow that milked her own udders. Too graphic?

When my “pumping” session was complete, I walked out relieved and a little lighter.

I fully intended to feed Aiman the milk because to waste breast milk drives me just a little bit over the edge. Actually, it makes me lose my senses because IT’S LIQUID GOLD I tell you! How dare you spill it or -gasp!- intentionally throw it away!?

Side note: the first time I accidentally spilled 4 oz of pumped milk I reduced down to a 2 year old and threw a fit.

At any rate, when I got home I was all “Look Aiman! Mama has a freshly squeezed batch just for you!”

I poured the milk into a bottle that looked cleaned (it was dim in the room) only to hear my husband exclaim “NOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Apparently the bottle had formula in it and wasn’t washed yet so I quickly sniffed it and it had a certain hint of foulness.

So I had to dump out the milk. Did you read that? I HAD TO DUMP THE BREAST MILK  that I engorged myself with, sat in the bathroom for 20 minutes to pump into a water bottle, stored and kept cool until I got home, and was ready to give my baby the best thing my body could offer.

Just. shoot. me.