That. Is my deepfreeze. All those bottles… Those are 4 and 8 ounce milk storage containers. Underneath the baskets on each side are three Target sacks full of eight ounces each of duct work. And underneath the middle portion is another layer. And in our other freezer, almost two shelves are now are converting to the Milky Way.
I haven’t counted up the ounceage. And so I haven’t done the math on a grand total {let’s be honest, I haven’t done the math on anything since sr. year of high school, if I could help it}. But here’s what I can tell you… I have pumped every three hours during the day and twice over night for the last 5 and a half weeks. This, in and of itself, isn’t abnormal. A lot of breast feeding mamas pump around the clock as opposed to offering the moo juice directly from the milk jugs. And because the other boys were pre-prime, we’ve been there and done this whole befriending the flanges business in the beginning, before. What’s a little different about our current situation is that the little monkey was not given more than a few cc’s for every feeding for the first two weeks of his life. And after my milk came in and we collected the colostrum {aka liquid gold}, once my milk made its way into my mounds, from weeks 32-34, I was pumping roughly 3ish ounces. Which seems to be somewhat standard. But almost all of that bosom beverage is stashed away in my cellar. And then over the past three weeks, I pump 4.5-6 ounces every time I pump it up. This is not ridiculous production in comparison to others but he still only eats about one to two ounces per feeding frenzy. So if you do the math on that, I pretty much have three thousand six hundred ounces of mama’s miracle goodness at my disposal. Okay. Not really three thousand six hundred. But I think it’s safe to state, there is a good bit of milk madness going on in our house.
Here’s the very best part though. I might actually like breast feeding this time. I know. Here’s the part where I would normally hyperlink to an old blog where I discussed my vehement disdain for bellying babes up to the boob. And I would take you on a little trip down mammary lane and share my stories about projectile vomit and green poops. And where I would love to bitch and moan about how my babes hate the breast. And how I held a burn party for all of my nursing gear post one year with the other peanuts. But this time, I am not such a hater on the dream cream. Partially because H dog does not yet {the docs are telling me to not yet count my chickens} seem angry at the Breastaurant and partially because I’ve determined that the grass is not always greener, my friends. And given the current pumping parameters, my nipples and I have decided that we will gladly open up the all-you-can-eat boobfet if it means that my mammaries can get a break from the evil Medela milking machine. Because I’m fairly convinced that some morning in the near future, I will wake to find that my nipples have actually fallen off. And will be laying next to me. Completely out of commission. From abuse by pumping.
So for now… And up until our due date, I will continue this pumping pattern. But once I can pack away the pumper and can use it at my discretion for a date night or a girls night out, I think that may, for the time being, be the breast day ever.
