"I've Never - Mommies Edition"

If you were born between the years 1965 and 1990, you've played (or at least heard of) the game "I've Never". Those of you who say you haven't, are either lying or are boring.

For what I'm guessing is decades, college students across this great country of ours have sat in tiny crowded dorm rooms with a case of the cheapest beer they could convince someones older brother or sister to buy, to play "I've Never"; the game where you drink too much and share too much- both on purpose. One person says something that they supposedly never did, and if you have done that thing, you drink. It's a very mature and sophisticated game. Your parents tuition dollars hard at work.

When I became a mother, and my inhibitions were thrown out with the days of uninterrupted sleep, I began to laugh to myself at some of the things I was doing and the places in which I was doing them. One trip to play group made me quickly realize that I wasn't alone. So I got to thinking, what if mothers got together and played "I've Never - Mommies Edition"? Imagine what they'd have to share! My guess is that it would be enough to make the college kids nicely buzzed on Natural Light, stare bug eyed and wince.

So in the spirit of fun and full disclosure, here is the part of the fictional "I've Never - Mommies Edition" that would have me motioning to the bartender for a refill:

- I've Never breastfed my baby in the backseat of my car.
- I've Never breastfed my baby in a dressing room.
- I've Never breastfed my baby in front of my dad.
- I've Never breastfed my baby in front of a stranger.
- I've Never licked a pacifier after it fell to the floor, convinced that my saliva alone made it clean enough to give back to the baby.
- I've Never sat in on a conference call while using my breastpump.
- I've Never led a conference call while using my breastpump.
- I've Never knowingly put on clothes with spit up on them.
- I've Never blotted purred peas off my shirt to avoid an outfit change.
- I've Never used the restroom with my baby on my lap.
- I've Never changed a diaper in a bar.
- I've Never changed my shirt at a stoplight.
- I've Never left the crib bumper on even thought the book said I should remove it.
- I've Never sang the same nursery rhyme for an hour straight because it made my baby smile.
- I've Never put the aspirator up my own nose to be sure it worked.
- I've Never been seduced at the thought of mom jeans.
- I've Never sat in the bathtub just a few minutes longer when the baby began to fuss through the monitor.
- I've Never worried about something ridiculous, then talked myself out of it, only to worry about something bigger.
- I've Never thought my kid was cuter than your kid.
-I've Never stood over my baby's crib watching her chest rise and fall to be sure she was still breathing.
- I've Never dreamt of a playroom.
- I've Never fantasized about my husband changing diapers and folding onesies simultaneously.
- I've Never convinced myself that Karen Neuburger nightgowns were as sexy as they are comfortable.
- I've Never sniffed an article of the clothing, passed it to my husband and asked, "Is this dirty?"
- I've Never pumped and dumped- the next morning.
- I've Never gone to the park in my pajamas.
- I've Never reheated my coffee five times in one morning.
- I've Never begged to go to Bunko.
- I've Never not brushed my teeth until noon.

I've done some crazy things as a mother. Definitely things "I never" dreamt I'd do, when I was young and naive in college and likened motherhood to babysitting . But in a circle of my own kind- perhaps during a girls night out- with the kids safely asleep in their suffocation hazard free cribs, and our husbands in charge of their midnight diaper changes- after a few rounds of "I've Never - Mommies Edition", we'd all be drowning in our cosmos. Only instead of hiding our shame after admitting to all of your dorm floor that you have fantasized about your RA; in the "Mother's Edition" we'd hold our head's high with pride at the lengths we went to love our babies. Even if it came at the price of close to indecent exposure in a public place.

Blood, Sweat and Breast milk

If breast milk were currency, I'd be cheap.

Seriously. I treat the stuff like gold. Not only is it my daughter's sole food source, but the efforts I go through (although admittedly, voluntarily) are ridiculous.

I actually really like nursing. At first it is bizarre and a very real reminder that we are mammals. But it is always ready, it's convenient and it's a bonding time between Marin and me. It's something we usually do alone, and only I can provide her. It's the pumping I still have reservations about. Pumping is the first thing I do in the morning and the last thing I do before I go to bed at night. Putting all the trials of Marin's first few weeks aside-- trying to get her to latch, trying to get her to eat, sitting for hours gently encouraging her to try it again-- here is a little of what my commitment to nursing entails:

(As an aside, this post may not be for everyone. Consider yourself warned.) :)

My morning starts off by waking up before the alarm (usually around 5:30am) to pump. Since Marin isn't waking up to eat in the middle of the night anymore, my cup runneth over, so to speak. Jason tells this funny story about how he wakes up to the wuuh-shoo sound of the pump, looks over and there I am. Bright and breezy. Good morning, honey!

After the sun rises, Jason, (gem that he is), washes and packs up my pump for the day. It is essential that we remember all of the parts, because without all of them, the pump does not work and I would be in a world of hurt. So far so good here.

When Marin wakes up I nurse her. Usually in my robe with a towel on top of my head. Poor girl.

I get dressed, breast pads in tact to avoid (gasp!) an unsightly leak, and head out the door.

Then I lug the pump to work. In the car, to daycare, to the train. It is built into a "stylish" over the shoulder bag. "Stylish" is up to your own interpretation. I give it a 2 on a scale of 1 to 10. 1 being a fanny pack; 10 being a Gucci hobo.

When I get to work the real fun begins. To maintain my supply, I have to pump when I am away from Marin. The milk that I pump goes with her to daycare the next day. In order to pump, I drag my stylish bag past Rich at the front desk and through the lobby. While the bag doesn't have "I have seen her topless" written on the side, if you (or your wife, or your sister, or your best friend) has breast fed, you know what it is. Then I go upstairs to campus services to get my friendly security person to unlock my special pump room. Letisha is very nice. And very sick of me.

I pump in a room with minimal windows (blinds closed as tightly as a steal trap), a lock on the door, and a sign outside that says, "Please do not disturb". Once inside- after the parts are assembled- I stare at the bare walls, a memo board from a marketing meeting that has long since passed, and a small picture of Marin. About 15 minutes later, I pack everything away in my cooler, disassemble all of my parts, head back downstairs through the lobby again and sneak into the president's kitchen (it's the only sink in the building with temperature controlled water) to clean my pump parts. I pray the whole way there that the kitchen will be empty so I don't have to explain to anyone what the heck the cone shaped contraptions in my hands are.

I repeat the above two more times throughout the day. Sometimes I call my mom or Jason as I sit there. They don't always appreciate the visual when I tell them why I am calling them from my cell phone. Sorry guys, I get bored.

Then I lug the pump home. On the train, to daycare, in the car. When I get home, the pump is washed, milk is stored. And I nurse Marin.

I nurse her usually two more times before she goes to bed.

Right before I go to bed (usually around 10pm) I pump again. Wash the parts, store the milk, and get it all ready for when I get out of bed first thing in the morning.

It is for these reasons that I can't put a price on the fruits of my labor. Every drop is precious to me. I covet each bottle that goes with Marin to daycare. You can imagine my dismay when the daycare told me they spilled an entire bottle last week and had to tap into their reserves. I felt like saying, "Let's see, by my calculations, including supplies and labor, that spill should set you back a thousand dollars."

It's a love/hate relationship that I have with my pump. It is a necessary evil at this point. But that puppy and I go everywhere together. I literally don't leave home without it. It's even accompanying me to my future sister-in-law's bachelorette party next weekend. It's sure to be a real party pleaser, I'm sure! :)

So why go through all this trouble you ask? (Or maybe you didn't, but I'm going to tell you anyway.) Well, for one, it is the best for Marin, and I'd do anything for her. Breastfed babies have a lower rate of hospitalizations, respiratory problems and ear infections. It protects them from (hopefully) developing allergies, type 1 diabetes, and high blood pressure later in life. Tests have shown that being breast fed can boost a child's intelligence and reduce the risk of SIDS. And, it helps me with weight loss (which everyone tries to pretend doesn't matter - but come on!) and may reduce my risks of getting some types of cancers.

I'd like to try to exclusively breastfeed until Marin is 6 months old, and it is time to start introducing baby food. She hasn't had anything but breast milk to date, and for some reason I am really proud of this. Either because of the journey it took us to get to this point, or because of the resilience in my effort. Maybe a little of both. In the meantime, my pump and I have a standing date. 5 times a day. In some very (and not so very) interesting places.