Udderly Awkward Pumping at Work




I know what you’re thinking, being a mom is super relaxing and glamorous… Yeah… everyone knows that having a baby means you have zero time for yourself, sleeping, your partner, cleaning your house, grocery shopping… showering, brushing your hair, etc. (Deodorant, yoga pants, and baby powder erryday).

One of the many fun things I do get to do several times a day is pump. Joy. Sitting there mostly naked, hooked up to an udder-milker, freezing cold (‘cause you know, nekkid / winter), lulled by the dulcet tones of the fingernails on chalkboard screech of REEEEEHrewwwwww REEEEEEHreeewwwwww…. For 20-30 minutes. Every 4-6 hours.

My son takes too long to nurse so in the middle of the night and in the morning before we rush off to work, he gets bottled of pumped milk (and milk is sent with him to daycare). Ok, great, that means you get to sleep longer, right? NO. It means that I am waking up in the middle of the night to feed my baby a bottle, get him back to sleep, and then I get to go and pump for 25 minutes or so, store the milk, and somehow fall back asleep. Lather, rinse, repeat. And then in the morning I get to wake up 30 min early to pump. Because drippage.

Who knew that washable nipple pads would be such a crucial part of the first year of my child’s life? ‘Cause what’s more awkward for strangers than seeing wet breast milk marks seeping through your clothes. Good times.


The winner for most awkward pumping, though, by far is pumping at work. LET ME PAINT YOU A PICTURE. I work in an office of desks and cubes. Mostly men. Two or three times a day, I sequester myself in the conference room, the only separated off room in our office with walls, a door, and a lock. We put in blinds while I was pregnant and someone asked me why. I think I eloquently replied, “cuz, um, well, I’m preggers, and when I get back, I’ll need space to, you know, cuz I’ll be nursing, so I’ll need to pump.”


So I go in there, lower the blinds, get nekkid, and pump. DUDE.  I AM TOPLESS AT WORK. On the computer, typing, super slowly and awkwardly, arms out in bicycle position to not knock it out of place, while wondering if it’s true that the government can log in to anyone’s computer camera at any time, and wondering if someone is watching me pump daily… IT COULD HAPPEN!  Then storing the pumped human juice in the communal fridge.  ‘Oh hello, no, that is just juice squeezed from a person, don’t mind that …  ‘

Ah, ladylike modesty…


A near second place is pumping in the car. This is a time saver, especially since I live about 45 minutes from work and some days, those extra 30 min of pumping while traveling is crucial after a multiple-wake-ups night. Ok, so I wear my hands free pump bra, which looks like a bandeau top with hole for your nips to poke through, hook up the pump, and drape a scarf around my neck and front so passers by aren’t blinded…

If a cop pulls me over, I will literally cry and then be like, yeah? What?

Worth it? Definitely. Glamorous, it is not. Trying to do this ’til my son is 1 year. Five months to go. Encouragement accepted.