Grace in the Maybe by Katie Savage

Author:Katie Savage
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Howard Books

Easter

but dairy cows already knew this

I was in the midst of graduate school at the University of Kansas when my son was born in July, convinced that nursing was the right way to go—that “Breast Is Best”—mostly because Scott and I were broke and cheap. It was a nice surprise that there seemed to be a nutritional and developmental bonus for our frugality, and we were determined not to buy an ounce of formula for the first year of Miles’s life.

Early on, breast-feeding was relatively easy. Miles never had problems latching, and my milk supply was bountiful. I tried to enjoy nursing, and most of the time I could. I also learned to do a variety of things one-handed, like reading a book, eating meals, and using the television remote. (Okay, that last one has always been a one-handed task, but I needed a longer list, and it turns out that breast-feeding didn’t really teach me any marketable skills or cool party tricks.)

Then in August, I started school again.

Not to be dissuaded, I bought a used breast pump from a friend who was finished breast-feeding children. I should have been tipped off by the maniacal smile on her face, the way she seemed to believe that this moment—the handing off of the breast pump—was more worthy of celebration than having the babies, but I wasn’t. I had no idea what was in store for me until the next morning when I attempted to strap that thing on.

Two funnelly cups. Check. Two tubes, purchased new to avoid funky sharing-of-the-breast-pump germs that may or may not exist, depending on how much you trust the Medela company to tell the truth regardless of profit margins. Check. A bra that a dominatrix would be proud of (were it not bright white with scalloped edges) with holes cut out for your nipples to pop through—perfect for a hands-free pumping experience. Check. Two tiny rubbery things referred to in the instruction manual as “membranes.” Gross, but: Check. Everything was accounted for. That first day, I spent a good twenty minutes configuring where membranes and funnels should go, flipping switches and turning knobs, listening as the suck-and-blow sound—the one that would become so familiar over the course of that first year—sped up and slowed down with each adjustment. The process seemed sort of neat. I’d been somewhat excited when registering for the breast-pump accessories, like I was with any other new baby toy, and I’d waited with anticipation for the first time I’d get to try them out.

I quickly discovered that using a breast pump is not really that neat. But dairy cows already knew this.

Taking the breast pump with you to various outside-the-home commitments like graduate school is even less neat. The University of Kansas is situated atop Mount Oread, which is affectionately nicknamed “The Hill.” On my very first day of classes, even though I knew how desperate the parking situation on campus is, I came to school in the highest heels I owned with my laptop case slung over one shoulder.

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