"Is anyone else in here?"
As far as I could tell, I was alone. There were no other signs of life, besides the crawling ivy in the corner. After months of solitude, I ran into a woman on the same mission. I only saw her once after that. What became of her?
Darn it. I forgot my watch. How would I know how long I had been in here? All I can hear is the shuffle of feet, the rush of water, and a gust of wind.
Out of desperation, I decided to leave a note. "Is anyone else using this room?" A half a day passed. No response. Was I really the only one? Clearly, if there were others, I would have known by now.
Pumping breastmilk at work can be lonely business.
Even though I may be the only woman using this section of the bathroom (yes, bathroom), I've come to the conclusion that I need to leave a legacy. You see, when I first started pumping, there was only an accordian style partition, a couch, and outlets. And I've been to the nursing mother's Mecca. I've seen what it can be like. It can be keypad locked rooms, pumps provided, posters, multiple pumping stations, a sink, fridge, and lots of happy moms to talk to (and commiserate with). This was not the worst, but definitely not the best. It had motion-sensored light. And you guessed it; since I was sitting behind the partition, the light would turn off every few minutes. This is especially fun when trying to transfer milk from a bottle to a storage bag.
Since landing on this lonely island, I've acquired a storage unit/table, a plant, lamp, reading material, and a bulletin board. It feels homey now, and less like borrowed space.
When I emerge from isolation to wash my pump parts, I sometimes get strange looks. But more often than not, I get stories. Stories of how pumping was for her last month, or last year or even ten years ago. Things have changed. And that's when it hits me. Even when I'm sitting behind that curtain, in my mom cave, doing the strangest, yet most natural thing for my baby (with no one to talk to); I'm not alone.
No comments:
Post a Comment