Pumped UP!

If you are a man, most likely- you will want to stop reading here. No really. HERE.

For the REST of you- I just wanted to address what is perhaps one of the most ridiculous situations I have yet to find myself in. And for those of you who have HAD the experience, I am sure you will agree whole heartedly.

Pumping. Breast pumping the ol' feedbags for the li'l one. It's just ridiculous. I am literally strapped via plastic cone by my boobs to a machine that whirs louder than a zerox copier. I find myself swaying to the pump for the lack of anything better to do- I have even mentally choreographed a dance that could rival the macarena! Watch OUT weddings! Watch OUT!

Out of sheer boredome, I watch my little plastic bottles fill ever so slowly with the tiniest of drips... Fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes can roll by and I am basically immobilized by the plastic tubing that is erupting from my "cones" and attaching me to my "home base". Even more ridiculous are my nipples- squeezed and contorted into some odd shape you would never recognize. Sort of like play-doh hot dogs- artfully crafted by a three year old.

My hands are tied up holding the milk receptacles, and I cannot help but think that this system is the best set up that has been invented thus far? Serisously? You can tell a busy Japanese businessman does not have to pump- or things would be majorly upgraded. In addition- the actual machine would most likely have a silencer- so pumping could be slightly more discreet- or at least.. um... less rhythmic.

I am only aiming for a measly six weeks of the pumping business- and with Wednesday marking my midway point- I am feeling a little less pessimistic about the whole "situation"... and am looking VERY forward to my freedom from the pump.

In the meantime, I will continue to sit- watching more HGTV than you may have thought possible, while whirring away to the sound of my machine- and resting assured it's all for a very good cause.