Pumping Me for Information…

Anyone who knows me would likely agree that I don’t exactly fall into the shy category. In my new adventures of motherhood, I find myself divulging details of my labor and postpartum adjustments to all inquiring parties, whipping out the boob somewhat more freely when Barrett needs his belly full and walking around drenched with the scent of second-time-around mamasmilk. While I’ve become even less chary of sharing every bit of myself, there are still a few cards that I play close to the chest (quite literally).

We spent the weekend of July 4th at the lake with grandma and grandpa and had a fantastic time lounging around and taking a break from the busy pace of summer. One of the biggest delights of the weekend was getting to spend time with one of our nephews. This nephew is the oldest of all of the nephews and is bright, inquisitive and always one step ahead of wherever you think you are (and I am not just saying this because I am his aunt). At nearly 6 years old, he can operate a computer more efficiently than I and he can do math problems that I can’t master at age 27. I had thought that through his life there would likely be few things I would be able to teach him; very little wisdom I could impart that his fast-tracked mind would find useful. But then again, I didn’t think he would ever see me in mid-pump. That’s right folks, my sweet sweet 6 year old nephew opened the door to the breastfeeding discussion both literally and figuratively and I found myself to be one bashful and modest mama.

He flung the door opened and announced that Grandma was ready for me … only to catch me mid-pump. First of all, let me explain that I had my shirt pulled over the pump so it is less likely that any lifelong scarring has occured and I must also note that there was no lock on the door so it was not as if I was being careless. But I digress … so he walks in, I’m pimping out my pump and I quickly let him know that he can let grandma know I am busy and will be out in a bit. The door closes … and just as I feel the warmth dissapear from my face, the door opens again …

Him: “Whatcha doing?”
{I channel his momma and I think, “Okay, what would she say … that she is working on making a magic potion or that she is, in fact, pumping milk from her bossom… I internally settle on somewhere in between and respond to him as the pump continues to run in the background of our convo.}

Me: I’m pumping out milk for Barrett.

Him: Ever the investigator, he retorts, “Why?”

Me: Well, you know how when you have a baby, they have to eat, right? And so there are two main options, right? Formula… (he shakes his head in agreement) and breastmilk {Why couldn’t I just call it mama’s milk or milk… sheesh}.

Him: No… what?

Me: Well, when a woman has a baby, her body produces milk for the babe and some women choose to use the milk and other women choose to use the formula.

Him: So will I make milk?

Me: No.

Him: So what are you doing now?

Me: Well, sometimes Barrett doesn’t finish the milk so I pump it out and save it for later.

Him: So where does the milk go? peeking his head down to the bottom of the bottle

Me: Into the bottle. You know, have you ever been to the dairy, and seen the cows hooked up to the machines? It’s like that, sorta. {I am reaaaallly reaching and reaaaaally red at this point}. Do you wanna let grandma know I’ll be right there?

Him: K. Bye.

After that little discussion, I finished pumping and cleaned up. I replayed the convo to Kathy and she giggled. He had indeed notified her that I would be out soon… as I was busy pumping milk from my belly. And that, my friends, is what my sister would refer to as a teachable moment. I can only imagine the convos that lie ahead between our children and us but I am certain that this will not be the last time I find myself struggling to decide how much information is too much … luckily I have a few years before Barrett starts pumping me for information.