Pump up the jam

Josh and I waited until Jack was five months old to go away for the first time. We went to Vegas and while I missed him, I realized it made me a better mom to get away for a few days and recharge. With Emmie, I went away for my sister-in-law's bachelorette party when she was three months old. Again, slightly sad, but came back revitalized. With Maeve, I'm surprised we didn't drop her off on the way home from the hospital and hit the airport. Instead, I waited until this past weekend, when she was eight weeks old, to head out for a snowboarding trip in Lake Tahoe.

While I totally shredded it on the mountain, I was also attached to my breastpump 24-7. After Maeve was born, I knew from past experience to start pumping right away to build up a freezer supply of milk. Because she was only eating 2-3 ounces at a time during the early weeks, I could stash another 3-4 ounces away. By the time we left last Friday, I had over 125 ounces -- a five-day supply.

But it's not like I could leave my boobs at home when I went boarding, so my pump made the trip. And it got quite a workout, considering I had to drain the boobs every four hours. The "kachunk, kachunk, kachunk, kachunk" sound it makes was the soundtrack of my trip. Wanna know where I pumped this weekend, in addition to the privacy of my hotel room? An airplane seat, an airport bathroom, a lovely airport nursery at SFO, the car and a hotel common area. All I can say is thank you nursing cover, because a woman pumping is probably one of the most frightening sights out there. Is it a cow? Is it a robot? And what in the hell is she doing squeezing her boobs like that? It's all kinds of sexy.

There's also no sleeping in when you breastfeed, even if your baby is 1,400 miles away. Without fail, my boobs wake me up after five hours. They're all, "Duuuude, it's time to get up." And I'm all, "No, I want to sleep more." And they're all, "Get up now." And I'm all, "Five more minutes." And then they mutiny, turn rock hard and I wake up in a pool of milk. Needless to say, I like to avoid that experience, so I just sigh and get up and pump at 5 a.m. and try to go back to sleep.

We're very lucky in that Josh and I are able to go away for short trips a couple times a year because we have parents who love to spend time with their grandchildren. But now that we've popped out a third child, the logistics are a little trickier. Three is really too much for anyone, well except for their mother and no one cares if I go insane, so we split them up. My parents took Maeve on her own, since she wakes up overnight and requires more intensive care, and Josh's parents took Jack and Emmie together, since they require more of a referee and chauffeur and less nocturnal visits.

We talked to the big kids on the phone every night because someone, who's name rhymes with yosh, loaded a stupid new server something or other on his laptop and for reasons I can't understand, it won't use wireless and a webcam at the same time. So we were forced to rock it old school on a cell phone, which disappointed Jack to the point of tears. Someday, I will tell him all about being forced to use a rotary phone with a cord attached to the wall and pay this crazy shit called "long-distance" to talk to people far away.

As I write this, I am sitting on a plane eagerly awaiting our touchdown in Chicago. While I had a great weekend, the best part of going away is coming home. Seeing Jack and Emmie's little faces light up when we walk in the door makes the early-morning airport craziness all worthwhile. Maeve will probably be nonplussed to see my face, but the sight of my boobs will make her day. She takes after her father that way.