I never thought that one of the most important relationships in my life would be with the following:

What is that you ask? That is my breast pump. Every working day, five times a week, three times a day for 15 minutes a time, my Avent Isis Duo molests me. In addition to working for the man, I am working for the mammaries. This pump has lasted an entire year with Owen, and god willing, through these last five months with Maggie even though it sometimes delivers an exasperated wheezing that begs to ask “Aren’t you done with this shit yet?” No breast pump, I am not done with this shit. You will know when that time has come because I will be coming to you in a drunken vodka haze with a sledgehammer. You can imagine that this is a whole bunch of alone time with my exposed boobies. I usually pass the time with my Iphone, Nintendo, a book or just staring at how far that god damn machine can stretch my nipples. I am talking inches people. There are times, I forget to lock the door of our lactation room while pumping. That is what they call it here - not the Milk Mecca or the Conference Room Boob - but “Lactation Room.” I know that public education being as it is might make someone say “Lactation?” What is that? I should investigate. And sometimes with unlocked door, you do get a curious visitor. Once very heavy set woman in her fifties entered, someone obviously not lactating or in need of a lactation room, but medical science being as it is and the average age of first time San Francisco mothers hovering around 45, maybe she was. But my answer was quickly found in her reddened face at the sight of me, my boobs and awesome hum of the Isis Duo. I see this woman sometimes around the office, and want to shout “You saw my boobies!!! You say my boobies!!”, but refrain. I think she was scared straight. A few weeks ago, our wellness room was being used. That is what we call the nap room. Yes, there are adults who take naps at work. Who knew! Anyway, there was a knock on the door, and I was asked if a woman who was not feeling well came in to rest on the couch. Hmmm, let me think, some sick woman wants to rest her head while I sit her with my boobs out pumping breast milk to a pump that sounds like it is saying “you whore” “you whore” “you whore”. Ah, nope. Does she? I don’t think the term awkward quite defines how I felt as she lay on the couch with closed eyes while I played Bedazzled 2 on my Iphone. But let me say I am happy for wine and beer. I really am.

Oh No They Didn’t

There is a something in the corporate world, called the day before a holiday. Usually one is let go early on such a day so that they can embark on whatever three day weekend is before them. This makes all happy, because let’s face it, half days in the working world are non-existent, and if you can get out a few hours early, you are totally and completely loving it. In Boston, we would be let known of the intentions the day off, because I worked in small law firm. Usually around noon and e-mail would go around announcing the office closing at 3:00 p.m., and didn’t I just jump at joy at the prospect of heading to a bar for a Grey Goose Gimlet. However, now that I am at a larger firm there is no announcement day of because we have a time tracking program so they usually inform us in an e-mail a few days prior. Starting Monday the office was all in a tizzy awaiting the letting go early e-mail, because our office has been very good about doing this lately. Monday passed, and no e-mail. But we had hope, I mean it was only Monday; it will have to be tomorrow. Tuesday will produce the unleashing. It had too. There was nothing in the morning, but then Tuesday afternoon it happened. THE E-MAIL. The blessed e-mail has arrived. I quickly opened it and to my horror and utmost dismay, there it said “Come Celebrate the 4th of July, with an ice cream social at 3:30 p.m., July 2.” Oh no they didn’t. I think I was just corporately bitch slapped. Tempted to immediately reply with a “Sorry, but I am on diet, could I just go home early?,” I refrained. But seriously, I mean come on dude. What the hell? Perhaps I am just spoiled, but an ice cream sundae social does make not up for the fact that you purposefully took away my 2.15 hours of freedom. It’s July 4th for Christ sake, do I really need to start a revolution, again?

The Little Bonuses

Ah the working life, the return is sweet. No longer talking to an infant about the color of her breastfeed poops or how she needs to take a napinsky or how Mommy really thinks Al Roker is pretty god darn funny. I am back making conversation with actual people capable of returning my questions with actual worded answers. But the best part of returning to the working life is that of the commuting life. I have been on public transportation probably since the day I was born. In fact, I have never commuted to work via motor vehicle, because I am a city girl. And city girls don’t drive, they sit on a crowded train with a book, a walkman (now Iphone) and a patented don’t talk to me glare. Sure it is a pain in the butt when your train is late, or if you are unfortunate enough to have to ride the N-Judah which seemingly breaks down every 3.5 seconds, but the rewards of same are sweet. In the past few days I have been witness to a myriad of city folk. The crazy older guy singing at the top of his lungs while everyone else just ignores. Drunken homeless woman cursing the many love pains in her life with slurred speech. Older Asian lady so adamant about getting a seat she sits in a pool of water only seconds later to jump up with a wet behind. There is a reason that seat was empty on a crowded train lady. Public transportation, you make it all worth while.

In other news, day two of the Goal of Thirty proved to be tough. The front part of my thighs achy from yesterday made today’s run difficult. I am pretty sure that if they could talk, they would be saying “You bitch. You bitch. You crazy bitch.”. But two down, twenty-eight to go.

I Take It All Back

I would like to state the following. Work is better than staying at home with a child. Need evidence, how about the following two stories that I have heard today:

1. There is a bird near my office that is attacking people who walk by her nest. It is so ridiculous the news has covered the story so now stands a crowd of people waiting for the next bird pecked victim. Guess where I am going tomorrow?

2. One of the people I work with told me she has Benign Positional Vertigo or Inner Ear Dizziness. I think the following is best used to describe this:

Someone with this problem may mistake it with having a really bad hangover or being so drunk that when they plop down on the bed to sleep it off everything begins to whirl around. The person will feel dizzy sometimes nauseous. Any attempt to get up and they may fall. Any effort to crawl is just as difficult. The dizziness may last briefly or all night. The person may pass out and wake up the next day feeling fine.

Benign Positional Vertigo occurs when minute calcium deposits inside of the inner ear break off and repeatedly strike the fragile hair cells when the head moves. The reason a person who has been drinking might cure their self of the Vertigo is because they will probably keep moving and stumbling around until they knock the calcium deposits out of the inner ear. Otherwise their body would have to absorb the calcium deposits on its own, which could take ten weeks or longer.

For the record, I totally must have had this at one time or another. From this day forward, whenever drunk and stumbling I will state with slurring speech “Drunk, me. No freaking way, I happen to be suffering from benign Positional Vertigo, now let me drink some more in order to correct said problem. Tequila! This is an alcoholic’s dream come true.

Back In the Saddle

My husband has requested a moratorium on the vagina talk, so I will just say the following - I have to get surgery to remove my IUD out of my pelvis. Anyone want to rub this belly for bad luck? I am the anti-buddha. Yesterday I returned back to work, and honestly it was not that bad. Since I am a second time around mom, the entire ripping out of my heart via waves of guilt was absent. I did feel the tinge of bad mommy, but in all actuality the chances of me weighing 400 pounds and becoming an alcoholic are quite high if I were to stay at home. I like to balance that with the guilt, well adjusted child versus child of fat alcoholic. Guess which wins? Speaking of fat, guess what today is? Yes, that is right, The Goal of Thirty returns. Those not in the know, last year I gave myself an edict of running at lunch thirty times. When I reached that goal, a determination as to the continuation of exercise would be decided. I never made the decision because I was under the influence of endorphins from averaging 18 miles a week. Today will probably involve lots of stopping, starting and suppressing the urge to vomit, but I am looking forward to the challenge, not to mention the entire wardrobe of my former pregnant self. There is only so much breast milk-stained, baby spit up covered clothing a person can take, and wear without people pitying her.

T Minus . . .

In less than five days I will be returning to work after six months of bed rest, birthing and baby. It could be said since I did this with Owen, it would be easier, and I am sure that within a week I will fall into the routine and not even think of what I am feeling now. And that is absolute dread mixed with a taste of vomit in my mouth. I just have to think about it and I suddenly become weepy and anxious and wanting of vomiting. Mother’s guilt is a tough one. But I am looking forward to the good things, like a paycheck and my return to running at lunch. Which will help me return to my pre-pregnancy size. Seriously, pregnancy does so weird things to your mid section, you think you will just bounce back and then you put on the next size up pants, which you can pretty much pull down without unzipping, but your size is a tad too tight and no way are you going to go all camel toe as a mother of two. Thank god for maternity clothing, and its elasticized waist. After three weeks of running, I am sure I will no longer have to pull my pants up constantly because I will have a button, a zipper and a waist. The crack of my ass no longer privy to the light of the day, so we can now all rest easy.