That means five times a day I spend 20 some minutes slowly down. My morning pump during breakfast is the exception - though slowly eating breakfast isn't arduous but I'm still multi-tasking.
My next three times I lock myself in a closet at work. Seriously. About the closet that is. It has a comfy rocker that hits the sides of the walls, almost. A red lamp I brought to work. A nursing foot rest. A kleenex box propped next to the lamp on the corner shelf so I have space for my iPad. My iPad stands on its side displaying a blue background with a white feather floating. The quote "If you surrender completely to the moments as they pass, you live more richly those moments." (Anne Morrow Lindbergh) hovers above the feather. My breathing slows as the calming monotone music drones out the chatter of the lunch room. I. Breath. Once. Twice. Three. Four. Five times. I feel my neck lengthen. My shoulders creep down my back. I then begin. I wash my hands with a lavender spray. I prepare the bottles, strap on my bra and flanges and start the pump. Eehhh, eeehh moans the pump. Da-la de-da hums the music. Some times the pump struggles. My nipples get stuck or the battery is low. Other times I'm able to simply breath.
The last pump is at the end of the day. I often almost forget and remember as I'm about to get in bed. It adds a half an hour to the end of my day. Precious time of an already full day. Tension and stress are the enemies of expressing milk as they are to most things in life. With breastmilk the physical connection to more stress equals less milk reminds me of my need to be kind to myself. I slow down and watch the milk whistle out or gently hold my head with eyes half closed.
I feel blessed to have time to step away from my demanding day. It reminds me of rhythms. But I find it overwhelming. I need to make enough milk. I have to prepare the pumping bag everyday. I must remember each piece of the process from the bra to the bottles to the caps. When the time comes for me to stop expressing milk I will feel sad. It makes me slow down. Yes I will feel less busy and stressed not having to cramp my day between those sessions. But my baby and my need to express milk create such a tangible space that I am more aware of my body. The physical space to breath and stretch my arms warmly embraces me. My glowing red lamp welcomes me. I surrender to the noise of my pump and the chaos and beauty of life. Maybe that's the trick. Let the chaos and beauty embrace you.
To chaos, beauty and imperfection.
No comments:
Post a Comment