BF 101: Your Pump Plan

Or rather, what the majority of pumping moms call the Pumping Schedule.

Do I have one? Of course I do.

It goes –

8.30. 11.30. 1.45. 5.15. at work.

And on a good day,

11.30 p.m (power pump). 6.45 (a.m.) at home.

30 minutes per session.

Thing is, for most working moms, it’s really not that easy to keep to the pump plan to a tee, isn’t it? Not impossible, I agree, but also not to a tee.

Most breastfeeding enthusiasts suggest that we act all gung-ho when sticking to the pump plan. Don’t bother about what people think of you. Don’t bother about what people say about you. To hell with the rest of the world. Just leave the meeting. Or bring the pump into the meeting. No excuse for not pumping. Mom’s milk is best. Baby deserves mom’s milk. Formula is poison.

Yeah. I know right? If you don’t agree that this is how most fully breastfeeding mothers sound like (because you might be one yourself), maybe it’s time for you to muhasabah.

But that deserves another post of its own. Point is, how important is that pump plan?

Very important. Very, very important. It’s very important to tell your b(oob)s to be full at the same time every single day (especially) when away from your baby, and the only way to do that is to stick to the plan.

When I got back to work, this was one of the issues which caused a lot of anxiety to me. For one I didn’t know how to break the news to my boss about my pump plan. And secondly, my job involves a lot of meetings. I most definitely can’t simply leave the meeting or not attend it altogether. I may be gung-ho but I most definitely am not irresponsible.

And so began my anxiety episode which eventually lead to stress, which eventually led to borderline depression which eventually led to having to supplement with formula.

So, after I supplemented, I thought long and hard about my pump plan (which used to be a different one from the above). I knew that I had to do something and to stick to something which is workable for me. We may all be working mothers, but our jobs, despite being similar, may not be exactly the same. After reassessing my situation, the schedule I mentioned above is the one I stuck to.

But like I said, it was still difficult to stick to it with utmost perfection. So, what I did to ensure I got the amount of milk I target for every day is to replace every missed pump session with a power pumping session. For example, I normally am forced to skip my 11.30 because of meetings. So, what I do is, when the meeting ends (at say for example 12.15), I dash back to my room and start power pumping until 1.15. Then, I run down to the café to get some lunch (tapau whatever’s left there) and then perform my Zuhur prayers and then stick to my next scheduled pump session. Of course, for the 1.45 session, I’d get less than I normally would, but what’s important is that at the end of the day, I’d get the amount I targeted.

The most I’ve gotten so far per pump session? Is 7 oz. at 2.00 p.m. Don’t get all excited just yet. That only occurred twice and it’s only because I skipped 2 earlier pumping sessions when I had to attend a course.

Now, while breastfeeding may be natural, lactation is a science. And I couldn’t agree more.

This is the other reason why pump plans are extremely important. Though we might not be able to observe the schedule perfectly, it is important that our b(oob)s are told to produce a certain amount (no matter how little) at certain times in day. So, when we’re forced to skip a session or two, the accumulated amount would still be the amount we would normally get from the sessions we missed. Faham kan?

The part about telling my boss and colleagues about my pump plan was one of the things I stressed out about previously too. So, how did I combat this issue?

By being honest. Totally and completely honest. Especially if I had to decline non-work related invitations.

“Puan, saya tak join ye. Nenen saya rasa nak pecah dah ni.”

There.

With curious male colleagues, I made sure I treat breastfeeding and pumping as something which is totally and completely natural (though only God knows how difficult it is to keep up that brave façade.)

When they dash into my room –

“Apakebenda bunyik tu?”

“Breastpump saya.”

“Hoh, napa awak tak tutup lampu ke, kunci pintu ke?”

“Kenapa nak kena kunci? Awak nampak apapa yang tak patut?

“Emm. Tak.”

“So, kalau saya tak rasa malu, kenapa awak pulak nak malu?”

There.

These days, they’ve learned that it’s okay to come for discussions with me although my FS is buzzing away.

And so, although my success is incomparable to those who have deep freezers full of EBM, to me, these little things, such as my pump plan and honesty, makes me just as happy to still be breastfeeding.

So, happy pumping milk, everyone! Even if your journey isn’t as perfect as others. Trust me, when you're so used to pumping milk, half an hour seems like such a short period of time!

♥

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Unwind.

I’m not the type who spends after working hours with my colleagues, especially so after my good friends left Service. Call me paranoid, but I seem to have some issues of trust (or rather mistrust) when it comes to the people I work with. Plus, in my opinion, spending too much time with the people you already spend so much time with is unhealthy.

Ever heard of familiarity breeds contempt?

 So, yes. I try to avoid spending after hours with my colleagues, just to get a breather from them.

Last Thursday though, I thought I’d make an exception.

Despite the bleak weather, it was too beautiful a day to pass up the opportunity to socialise over a cup of good coffee and some cake. Anxious as I was (especially about the things we were going to talk about, as I hate talking about work and people at work with people I work with), my anxiety proved to be baseless. Thanks to a few good books, and our children, of course, conversations didn’t seem to run dry.

Turns out to be one of the best evenings I’ve had in a long time.

It was good to get to talk and get to know each other on a more personal basis. I’m happy to report that I’d probably (albeit only occasionally) be joining to such evenings again.  

Especially if coffee’s not on me.

LOL.

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this makes sense.

"If God had wanted us to talk more than listen, He would have given us two mouths rather than two ears.

Good listeners respond by keeping the focus on the speaker.

Poor listeners “sort by self”. If you express a concern you have, they will express a concern they have."

 - Ken Blanchard.

Makes so much sense, it instantly brought a smile to my face.

No doubt it'll take a lot of practice to not be "poor". But it's doable, I'm sure. Got to kill the "I like to hear but not to listen" habit. Pronto.

 

So, happy listening, everyone.

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the domino effect of happiness is happiness.

My son is the centre of my universe.

For such a small person, he exudes so much joy! No doubt I may be biased (well naturally), but everyone who’s met him seems to think the same as well. My mom thinks I’ve done a job well done (so far at least) to raise such a balanced baby despite our circumstances. And I’d like to pat my own back also for being strong for the both of us. That’s the least that I can do for now.

After he started rolling when he turned 4 months, our life went on a roller coaster ride. Things were moving even faster (probably faster than I would have liked it to be) when my son reached his 6-month mark. When he started eating solids, the possibilities were endless with him.

Sometimes, I get inferior when I see other parents recording their children’s milestones to detailed perfection. But note that this only happens sometimes.

It’s not that I don’t care, please don’t get me wrong. In fact, anyone who dares to say that deserves a tight slap from me. Of course I care. I bore him in my womb, how could I not? Thing is, I’m not the kind of mother who’s bothered about his developments just yet. It doesn’t matter that he’s 8 months and still doing a commando crawl instead of being on all fours. In fact, it really doesn’t matter to me if he decides to skip crawling altogether.

Which is why I sometimes get so annoyed at overly paranoid parents who ask, “my baby is 8 months so why is he not crawling yet?” kind of question. I always wonder if it has ever occurred to that parent that that alone is not a determinant of how well (or not) a baby is currently developing. 

The factors which I give emphasis on in bringing up my baby are very few but major. Health, good appetite, established sleeping patterns, recognition of who Mama and Daddy are, ability to differentiate condescending tones and affection, and of course, he must be active and alert. In fact, while many think my baby is lasak, that’s the one thing I’m truly grateful for, actually. It makes him a handful to handle, no doubt, but at least I know that he’s curious and aware of his surroundings.  

And most important of all, I emphasise on safety, like any mom would (probably I’m worse because I’m protective like a lioness)

The other thing I’ve decided to agree to disagree about with other parents is about “spoiling” a baby. In my opinion (of course you may agree to disagree with me as well), it is IMPOSSIBLE to spoil a baby. Note that I’m talking about a baby. Yes, new born to at least one year old babies.

Because despite knowing how to differentiate various emotions, and being born geniuses, to me, babies pretty much don’t know what on earth is going on. For the most part of their early lives, they don’t really have a choice; we make those choices for them.

Which is why my baby doesn’t sleep in a cot, doesn’t get scolded for climbing on me, isn’t told off when he starts unravelling what’s inside our travel bag, is allowed to kiss the floor and also the table to his highchair. And of course, he can throw everything onto the floor and I will pick them up without even sighing. If you don’t let them try, they will never learn.

Oh my God, manja nya anak kau Kak?

Oh, yes, he is manja. But also be reminded that he is a baby. And he’s not going to be a baby forever. I already miss his “newborn smell” and it’s only been 8 months into motherhood. Imagine how I’d feel when he turns 1, or when he starts school and starts getting embarrassed by my nonsensical mommy antics and sloppy kisses and long, long hugs?

Of course, I’m no angel with a halo over my head and there have been meltdowns (not just by him, by myself as well), but I let them come far and few in between. I always remind myself that I’m the bigger person (literally), so I should be the one in control.  

There are many ways to discipline a child and for me, “spoiling” him (at least at the moment) works wonders for me. It makes me happy. It makes him happy.

Happiness seriously has a wonderful domino effect, so please, let’s all try it.

In the end, mothers are an amazing race and our decisions are our own.

So you may agree to disagree with me if it makes you happy. No need to justify.

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"mint" to be.

During the last family wedding, I was in labour. Oh, yes. I was, I was.

Back then, in all my attempts to seem like a cool mom-to-be, I initially told my parents not to worry; that I’ll FOLLOW THE ROMBONGAN to Gemencheh. I told them I didn’t mind having a baby in Negeri Sembilan.

But of course, they did everything to keep me away and made sure I had to run an errand in KL instead.

In retrospect, I’m kind of glad I stayed behind. My being there would have caused too much drama. I’m sure my cousin-in-law would have hated me ‘til now for stealing her limelight.

Lucky for me though, there are 2 upcoming nuptials in 2013! And that means I get to dress up and get my baju raya in advance and take wedding photos again! Ah, I like!

One of the themes that has been decided on involves the colour mint. Which is perfect because I don’t have anything in mint (yet). What’s even more perfect is mint green garbs seem to be selling everywhere.

I just have to tell my heart to be still and decide. Yeay to retail therapy!

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I'm right here.

Having a strong support system is one of the things that matter in making motherhood a success.

 

Support is important, I agree. But do I really want my support to bring my child up?

It is me being there matters the most. Because I'm here, right here.

Clearly, we are different where some things are concerned.

 


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temah.

During my UiTM days, specifically during exams, my brains would move faster than my hands, causing me many spelling mistakes. And also causing me to be the mother of so many “new born words”.

Most of the time, those “new born words” would be a combination of two words which I was thinking about writing at the moment, in all my efforts to not forget the point I was trying to make.

Off hand, I’m not able to give you an example. It has, after all, been quite a while since I last did an exam paper which requires me to write so fast.

Today though, as I was amending an opinion subsequent to a discussion with my boss, my head thought of the words, “telah mengesahkan”.

But what really came out on my document was –

“TEMAH”

And I was typing, not even writing.

Haih, I’m so smart sometimes, I’m ashamed to admit how much.   

>.<"

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back to December again (already?)

As it is now December and this year draws to a close, I have come to realise one thing. Well, it isn’t the only conclusion I got out of this year of course, but it is, I have to say, the most prominent –

“I’ve not only grown older, but I have grown up.”

Well, considering that I went through a life changing experience, that shouldn’t be surprising, right?

But, really. Years previous to this, in all my delusion about staying young at heart, I forgot that I somehow or rather, at some point in my life, need to grow up.  Staying young at heart doesn’t mean that you forgo maturity entirely. And as much as you’d like to go back to your younger years when things were so much less complicated, you’d have to face the fact that life is so much better with the complications that come with it.

It’s not always rainbows and butterflies, remember?

I came to such realisation (about me growing up) when we were in Seremban for a wedding. It was held on the street where I grew up. The “mansion” which used to seem so magnanimous to me once upon a time ago, looked so… tiny. The street on which I used to walk on to sneak to my then best friend’s house at the other side of the road looked so… short. In fact, the road which used to cause my mom to palpitate every time she discovered I crossed it alone (which in turn caused me to get several slashes of the cane and detention), makes my mom look like she was making a big deal out of nothing!

Oh, those were the years!

And I have come such a long way from then.

I have seen bigger, better things and I am eternally grateful to be given such opportunity.

This year has been a year with many firsts. And also ups and downs.  

And not to mention, many, many lovely dates, with so many good memories.

As much as I hate to see 2012 go, I really can’t wait to see what 2013 has in store for me.

So, bring it on!

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those 36 hours.

And when the daylight comes I'll have to go

But tonight I’m gonna hold you so close

Cause in the daylight we'll be on our own

But tonight I need to hold you so close

- Maroon 5

That kind of sums up what I felt the entirety of last weekend.

Just to give myself a little bit of credit, I think I’m getting better at handling the distance. Come to think of it, it’s not even something novel to me. We’ve been there. We’ve done that. Probably for about 6 years or more before we got married.

But there are just times when being apart, just… sucks. Every Sunday when he’s home sucks. Not because he’s home, but because Sundays are typically associated with counting hours until he departs.

That means we’ve basically got to cram all our plans into less than a day and a half.

 But even if we didn't have any plans, my lazy weekends with my husband are now robbed.

I know that it’s entering our 10^th week of distance (already!) and the next thing I know, it’s going to be April 2013 and we’ll be together again (and probably then we’d start arguing about all the stupid things again hahaha), but it doesn’t make this waiting any less unpleasant than it already is.

Perhaps I should stop counting, not that I am at the moment. Not consciously anyway.

And perhaps I should start counting my blessings instead.

Because all in all, I’ve got to admit that absence does make the heart grow fonder.

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