Preparing to Pump: The Night Before My Return to Work

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The night before returning to work, my stomach is in a twisted knot of nerves. The idea of leaving my baby, acting like a functional adult, and figuring out how on earth I'm supposed to bring home enough milk to sustain her existence is beyond daunting.

On top of that, dozens of anxious thoughts are crossing my mind.

'Would she reject the breast after I return to work? Would she even remember WHO I AM?'

'Would she take a bottle three to four times a day? WHAT IF SHE STARVES?!'

'Am I going to have to kick people out of our multipurpose mother's room three times a day?'

'Will people at work respect my 30-minute windows enough so that I can maintain breastfeeding my daughter?'

'Will I pump enough milk?'

'Will pumping make me engorged?'

I could go on.

My maternity leave had been a four-month emotional roller coaster — breastfeeding, by far, being the most challenging part. Having been told that breastfeeding is a 'magical experience,' I was shocked that the first few weeks led me to believe my baby had seven rows of teeth beneath that little gummy grin.

Luckily, the planner in me was prepared. I set up appointments with a lactation consultant to come to my home the day after my daughter was born. With her consistent support, and my stubborn commitment to the cause (despite truly believing that FED IS BEST), my baby and I made slow progress. Eventually, I grew to enjoy nursing.

By the way, mamas, some insurance covers lactation support, and there are organizations that help mothers for free, like La Leche League.

Having overcome breastfeeding challenges over the past 16 weeks, I was ready (sort of) for a new chapter — a return to work, and a chance to rediscover my identity and use my brain again!

Little did I know, much of this new chapter would actually be about navigating pumping at work.

I planned in advance. The most important thing, my lactation consultant told me, was that I got three pumps a day. The ideal pumping cadence for me was every three hours. But all that mattered was that I got in those three pumps a day.

And so, I blocked my calendar every three hours, labeled it 'Please do not book,' and hoped that it worked. I had no idea how challenging, hilarious, painful, and emotionally exhausting pumping at work would eventually become.

These are my pumping diaries.

Day one: First day at work

Upon waking up

Do not cry, I tell myself.

I don't cry. I keep my game face on. I go through the motions of getting everything ready for the day.

Making a mental checklist

• bottles for baby — check
• pumping bra — check
• flanges — check
• duck bills — check
• Ziplock bags to store pump parts in the fridge between uses (LIFE HACK!) — check
• cooler with ice packs — check

Leaving for work

I do some deep breathing. I'm not sad. I'm not scared. I. AM. ANXIOUS. I make a mental note to talk to someone about potential postpartum anxiety.

I tell my almost 4-month-old daughter that I'm going to work. I tell her that I promise to be home by 5 p.m. I tell her because it makes me feel better, and I tell her because I think she understands. I give her a huge kiss, gather my purse, get in the car, and go on my way.

Minutes pass. I forgot my pump. I turn around and get my pumping bag, trying not to make eye contact with baby as I tiptoe back into the house.

My first pump

Why did nobody tell me how weird this is? Walking into our 'lactation room' — which doubles as a meeting room and triples as a meditation room — I kick out two of my male colleagues. 'But we have to pump, too!' they innocently joke and leave the room. Super funny, guys.

I lock the door and get set up. Before disrobing and putting on my pumping bra, I go back to the door and make sure it's locked. I do this three more times.

I start pumping. Immediately, I text my friend, also a lactating mom, and ask her why she didn't tell me how weird it is to sit in a room, practically topless, expressing milk. She tells me she didn't want to scare me.

It's really easy to hear nearby conversations and I can't get over the fact that I'm in an incredibly vulnerable state while at work.

Three minutes into the pump, someone knocks on the door.

More deep breathing eventually yields a pathetic 3 ounces of milk after 20 minutes. I take the pump off, twist off the flange, and spill milk all over my jeans. Not 3 ounces of milk, but enough to leave a massive stain on my pants.

Post-pump

I think of my baby girl. I decide not to cry over spilled milk. I pack up my pump and get back to work, feeling slightly successful, slightly strange, and plotting my strategy to find a more private lactation room — since there will be more pumps, and perhaps a few spills, tomorrow.

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Renata Tanenbaum leads product marketing at Healthline. She also has a baby girl named Raiya who rocked her world when she was born in 2018. She tries, and often struggles, to find balance through acupuncture, exercise, baby cuddles, and time with adults who speak in full sentences.