Me and my pump take to the skies
Kudos, Air New Zealand
Leaving my 10.5 month old baby at 4 am to catch a flight to the other side of the world was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I nursed him for the last time in the car, at the airport (yes, he woke up when I was trying to leave, so I had my amazing au pair drive us to the airport). Turns out, it was our last nursing session ever - after 2 weeks away, he never went back to the breast. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.
I had pumped for months in advance of this trip, and left my family with a freezer full of breastmilk. I was proud of pumping so much — it took months and months of diligent middle-of-the-night wake-ups to pump extra — but I was disappointed, because I still hadn’t pumped enough to leave him with exclusively breast milk. There was enough milk in the freezer for him to have 2 breastmilk bottles per day.
Up until then, I’d been nursing 6–8 times a day, or however much my son wanted — I was barely keeping track, since he liked to take short but frequent breast sessions. He was a healthy weight, he was growing, he’s my second child… so I wasn’t really paying attention to our nursing schedule.
What I was worried about, however, was leaving for 2 weeks. Worse, leaving for 2 weeks on an opposite day-night schedule in a remote location with no internet.
No Internet = Zero communication = Cold turkey, no mama.
Awful, but I couldn’t bear myself to wean in advance, and I couldn’t cancel or postpone the trip - it was already a compromise to be gone for only 2 weeks instead of the original 6. Would my son feel abandoned? Estranged? Would he return to nursing? All of these agonizing fears were swirling around my head as I prepped to leave, and remained the whole time I was gone. But again, I’m getting ahead of myself.
Flight #1
About 2 hours later (or exactly when my flight was ready to take off), it was time to pump for the first time. Ugh. I had a middle seat. Double ugh. I decided to wait until after take-off and see if the flight attendants would take pity on me and let me pump in the back of the plane. Hallelujah — success. But sadness: pump and dump. All that beautiful milk, poured into an airplane toilet. Sigh. After doing that twice, I arrived at my first stop: California, with a 10 hour layover.
I took full advantage of my dear friend Molly and went to visit her. Please note the craziness of this imposition — she was moments away from popping out her second child, and I had the gall to “borrow” her hand pump and an international adapter (neither of which I actually returned — I just bought new ones from Amazon and had them shipped to her house, because I have a severe and strange inability to actually go to the post office). But, I digress.
Flight #2
After pumping at Molly’s and stealing her stuff, it was back to the airport for me, for flight #2 of 3. This time, an aisle seat. It was Air New Zealand — I asked them if I could pump in the back of the plane. They said: “sure, but no need — pump anywhere you like — we fully support you”. WOW. Amazing philosophy. But then — horror — a very smelly, very huge man sat next to me. Normally, I would try not to pass too much judgement (after all, people are people) but this was a 14 hour flight, and I literally couldn’t work out the logistics of how to pump in my seat with this guy spilling over me. So, I did a horrible thing, I asked to move seats.
The flight attendant took pity on me and let me move. To an exit row. Window. With an empty middle seat. With a lovely pregnant woman in the aisle. I won the coach seat lottery!!!
(To my first seatmate: I am so sorry if I hurt your feelings. I still feel bad, but I hope that you at least appreciated having an empty seat next to you, more room, etc.)
I pumped 5 times on that flight so I was incredibly grateful for the move.
Flight #3
A short flight. Well, short (ish) — only 6 hours. Middle seat (again). Between 2 men. No back of the plane. Major turbulence.
What’s a mama to do?!
I did what anyone whose breasts are about to explode would do… I pumped in my seat. Under a nursing cloth (pro-tip — always bring a nursing cover!) between my 2 male flight-mates. When I was done and I emerged with 2 full bottles of milk that I had to then dump down the drain (sigh), they both commented. I prepared myself for the worst, but they were so kind — they both complimented me on my discretion and dexterity. One asked: “where’s the baby?” When I answered: “in Boston”, I could feel the empathy. I was so grateful for their kindness. In the U.S., I’m not sure I would have received so much empathy and care.
Americans, take note: pumping is OKAY and ACCEPTABLE and even UNDERSTOOD in other parts of the world!!
To make a long story somewhat shorter, let me say this: I pumped round the clock the whole two week trip, 4–6 times a day. I was the project leader, and I had meetings while pumping, did work while pumping, and got up to pump in the middle of the night. My CEO was on the trip with me and walked in on me several times while pumping and didn’t blink an eyelash (another kudos and shout-out to the nursing cover — booyah!). My colleagues tolerated my pumping with total aplomb. When people needed me and I was pumping, they found me — and it was business as usual, with me under a cloth and a battery-powered pump.
I did it. It was do-able. It was hard, but do-able.
And in many ways, it was easier in the field than it would have been in the office — in the office, I would NEVER have been able to pump while in a meeting. It was only because we were in a 24/7 field situation with no other choice that it was acceptable…. but newsflash, it was EASIER to pump and continue working than it would have been to disappear for 30 minutes 4–5x/day.
Why can’t this be the accepted norm, all the time?
From a work standpoint, the trip was a total success. But when I got home, my son no longer remembered how to nurse. He wanted to, he kept searching — but when presented with a breast, he couldn’t quite get the hang of it again. I tried for 3 weeks with no success. My heart broke — I was so sad. I wasn’t ready to quit nursing, and neither was he. Even now, 4 months later, we both feel the loss of nursing — the intimacy, the ease—but c’est la vie.
Working mamas have to make choices. I have regrets, but there are no do-overs. However, I did continue pumping until he was 13 months. My son had breastmilk for his whole first year. I feel endlessly guilty that we didn’t go longer (I breastfed my daughter for 22 months), but I know that there is pride to be had with the 13 month mark.
Take home messages? Try not to leave nursing babies for long stretches within their first year. If you have to leave them: pump in advance, bring a nursing cloth, and pump everywhere. Ask for help when you need it. Don’t apologize. Be grateful for kindness and empathy. And above all: pay it forward. Be nice to other nursing mamas. Pave the way for them, enable them, and make pumping a normal thing (rather than an anomaly). Air New Zealand totally gets it….. I’m sure you can, too. :-)
Good luck, mamas….
This post was submitted anonymously to The Pumping Chronicles editors.
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