My breastpump speaks to me. No, really, this is a truly sane thought (she said while chilling on the crazy farm). But, I am not alone on this, believe me. I checked google.
Anyways, during one of the many lonely agonizing hours’ I spend in the tiny ward kitchen, extracting milk from my bosom, my pump spoke to me. It was on its last legs. It whispered “bu-bu-bu-bu-bye”.
Me and the pump have had quite an adventure over my breastfeeding journey. I was so sleep deprived this one time, that I popped it into the sterilizer, where it bobbed optimistically all night long. And then there’s the times I dropped it. bumped it. fumbled it. Oh, so many times. Sigh.
The last straw came on Tuesday night, when it fell to (what I now know to be) its untimely death. It was never the same after that. And today it stayed stuck on the death rattle. “Bu-bu-bu-bu-bye”, it whispered. A low pitched hum that sounded pitiful and sad. It simply refused to live up to its name.
So, I’ve had to say bye to my trusty pump. Its gone off to the big bosom in the sky. May it Press In Peace.
It was time to say “buy” to a new pump. Baby needs her milk! So on to the next! I chose to go with a manual pump this time around. She is efficient. Reminds me of the doctor’s receptionist: preppy, put together, methodical. She extracts twice the milk in half the time! And, boy, is she handy. I mean that literally. Phew. Gives my hands a proper work out! She says “Pfft pfft pfft pfft pfffffff …..*Whew* ….. PftPftPftPftPftPftPftPftPftPftPftPftPftPftPftPftPftPftPft….*Changes hands* PftPftPftPftPftPft … PftPftPftPftPftPft”.
I’m so relieved, because I was really starting to doubt my sanity for a second there. Touch wood.