I maintained my career the first year of Vivi's life. While I was lucky to have a very flexible schedule, Fridays were often an extended day in the office for me. That meant that I spent many a moment with a pump attached to my breast. There was nothing enjoyable about pumping and I dreaded doing it. Needless to say that when Vivi weaned at 13 months I didn't shed a single tear over my now useless pump.
I didn't think about the pump for a couple of years. It was only when the toy/baby crap store near my house put one on display in their front window did all the negative feelings come rushing back. It was early in my second pregnancy when this happened and I consoled myself with the thought that I wasn't working anymore so I wouldn't really need the pump. Plus, it wasn't like I was carrying twins or anything so I wouldn't even really be nursing that much. Ha!
(By the way, who was the idiot that thought putting a breast pump in a display window would actually bring buyers in?)
Well, several months and two babies later, I have renewed my relationship with the pump. It's not as contentious as it once was. My pump now symbolizes my ticket to freedom and I will willingly submit my body to it in the hope that I can get out of the house. Do I have any place to go today? No, but I pumped this morning and that means that I can find somewhere else to be.