Dear Breast Pump


I felt that I should write because I was feeling a little guilty about the way we left things last weekend. Well, okay, the way I left things last weekend. After I toted you off to the garage and exiled you to the corner designated for ‘things Charlie has outgrown,’ I realized that perhaps I did not give you the proper send off you deserved. Maybe I was just a bit too gleeful about sending you packing.

It’s no secret that ours has been a tumultuous relationship from the beginning. Truth be told, I was not always pleased to have you around. You and your entourage of plastic funnels and bottles and the “expression bustier.” You were a pain and demanded that I stop what I was doing and give you my full attention more than I would have liked. But I always respected you.

You allowed me the freedom of going back to work, or just being away from my baby for more than four hours at a time. You gave relief to my engorged breasts (and the right one is particularly grateful). And most importantly, you helped me in my efforts to keep my daughter well-stocked with breast milk so that she could have the best possible start in life. Life without you would not have been the same. (And I know this is true because when I forgot to pack you for a trip to New Jersey, I attempted to form a bond with one of your ancestors, the manual pump, but to no avail.)

For your thirteen months of tireless and devoted service, I am truly grateful. Perhaps if I am lucky, I will have cause to call on you for another tour of duty, and we can do as old friends do — pick up where we left off. But for now, as you settle into your new home in the garage next to the bassinet and infant swing and boxes of newborn clothes, I just wanted you to know that you have been appreciated, and, whatever your future holds, you will not be forgotten.

Kelly and ALL of her girls.

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