So, I hate pumping up the jam.

And no, not while my feet are stumpin'.  Although, I probably would hate it if it was while my feet are stumpin'.

I breastfed PJ for a year.  Strictly.  Not one drop of formula entered the little guy's mouth.  This was something I wanted to do strongly -- something I was deeply dedicated to and passionate about.  I do NOT think there is anything wrong with formula feeding -- it just wasn't for me.  Just like breastfeeding isn't for some moms.

Anyway, since I was dedicated to this, I had to pump.  Alot.  Three times a day at work, usually one time a day on the weekends.  I was always worried about not having enough.  I pumped at night with PJ a lot to make up for what I didn't pump during the day.  I wasn't prepared.  I took that damn supplement that makes you smell like maple syrup (really, it does).  I got domperidone from someone on the bump.  But we made it. 

I am doing the same with Maggie.  It's a little easier this time, since I am more prepared and an old pro.  But I still HATE pumping.  I hate lugging the stupid thing to and from work everyday.  I hate watching my boobs look like cow teets when the pump is on.  I hate that I might burst into hysterics if I spill some milk (I spilled a whole bottle once with PJ; I think John thought I might have to be committed).

As much as I hate it, I do it, because it is important to me that Maggie, like her big brother, also does not ever ingest one drop of forumula.  I have about 6 months to go -- PJ was weaned shortly before his first birthday, mostly because I was pregnant, but still.  I will start weaning Maggie around the same time.  And then I will be done.  My boobs will be mine again.  I will give my pump to a friend to use while she continues to procreate. 

So here's to 17 months of pumping done and only 6 more to go.