There’s something going on with my pump this morning. I can only get the one side to work, even though I’ve replaced the parts on the other and it’s not the tubing. I can feel the suction in the tubing, the parts are assembled properly, there’s no air escaping. Usually taking it apart and back together again works. But not today. It’s a mystery. Hmm.
Sometimes I get a moment of ‘fuck it, I’m quitting’ at times like this. It’s not what I need first thing in the morning. I’ve got things to get up and get on with. Now my pumping time has doubled, I’ll be sat doing this for half an hour. I dread to think how many minutes of my life have been spent sat attached to this bloody pump. Listening to the constant buzzing. I’ve tried pumping hands free, but you can’t bend freely without the milk spilling out. It’s easier to just sit in one place rather than have a tantrum and cry when ounces of milk come pouring out onto the floor. Monitoring a small person whilst attached to a pump is no fun. This morning the rocking horse has been upturned. Half an hour is a long time to hope a toddler doesn’t get up to mischief or pee on the floor.
Thank goodness for my husband. He feeds and dresses my daughter whilst I’m occupied. There’s no way I could have exclusively pumped for this long without a support network.