And as though things could not have gotten worse this weekend…

At some point on Friday night, Chris was rummaging through our pantry, trying to find something sweet to eat that was not part of the Australian stash he hauled back from Melbourne. He found a small bag of jelly beans that a friend had gifted me last spring and started eating them. Lo and behold, one of the jelly beans manages to hurt one of his back molars. He told me about the pain on Friday, but he didn’t make too much of it. I knew it was bad when on Saturday morning, he asked me to text our dentist to see if he could come in to see them today: the pain had gotten really severe, and he wasn’t feeling well. The dentists said they wouldn’t be in Manhattan this weekend, but if he wanted, he could come up to see them in Yonkers. Chris ended up getting a Zipcar to drive up there to see them. They took an x-ray of his tooth to find that the stupid jelly bean had actually fractured his tooth, and the fracture was so severe that the entire tooth needed to be extracted.

WHAT???

So, they made a call to an oral surgeon to see if they could fit Chris in for a consultation Monday morning. All I could think when he came back from the dentist with his painkillers and antibiotics was… seriously? All because of a stupid little jelly bean….

And if you aren’t familiar with adult tooth extractions, especially molars… let me tell you something. It’s not just a little visit going to a dentist where they give you anesthesia and pull the damn thing out. Nope: it’s full on anesthesia where they pull out your entire tooth and have to hammer away and break and pull out roots and everything — disgusting, painful, miserable, with plenty of lingering pain and after effects for days on end afterwards. It’s considered real oral surgery. The only reason I am even aware of this stuff is because my mom had to go through it, and she told me all the gory details that happened.

My poor baby…. well, my poor big baby Chris.

“Experts” recommend that babies see a dentist as soon as their first tooth comes out, or by their first birthday — whichever one comes first. Kaia had a number of teeth come in during November and December, and we had her first dentist appointment today. Chris and our nanny took her, and… as predicted, she cried. While she is happy to watch me brush my teeth and tries to eat my toothbrush, she refuses to have her own teeth brushed. She needs to have her arms and legs restrained and a finger stuck in her mouth in order to have any teeth brushed at all.

The dentist sent Kaia home with a goody bag filled with a little baby toothbrush, baby toothpaste, and a few toys. And Chris said they showed a video at the office showing the best way to “restrain” baby in order to brush the teeth. It still looks like absolute torture to me, but anything to keep Kaia’s dental health on track will be good for her, even if she hates it in the short term. The dentist also suggested using a very thin layer of toothpaste, contrary to what I thought before. A little swallowing at this stage is not supposed to be too much of a worry.

Most kids probably never see a dentist before the age of 4 or 5. I think the first time I ever went was at age 5, and I had three cavities (since I refused toothpaste for that long… very, very bad). We’re sending our kid at age 1. We hope we’re getting our dental insurance premium’s worth out of these visits.

So the other day, given how much my milk supply had been dwindling, I told myself that I’d officially stop pumping at the 13.5 month mark, which is January 24. But then I started looking at the calendar, and I realized how soon that was, and I honestly don’t think that I was mentally ready to fully wean. It made me feel so sad and conflicted: on the one hand, I’d be completely liberated from my breast pump finally after 13.5 months. I could have full ownership of my body again. I could drink whatever I wanted and use whatever BHA or retinol skin care product again! But then I thought back to the beginning of my journey, which was miserable by anyone’s definition. The first three months were a total struggle both mentally and physically. I hated every single thing about pumping, and I especially hated that it took me physically away from my baby. But then I got used to it and into a routine of cleaning, putting the parts away, putting them all back together again, getting set up. I knew what pump settings worked best for my body. I was increasing my supply. But the one thing keeping me going was knowing my baby was getting the best nutrition for her straight from my body. The months went on. I was mentally at ease and peace with all of this. I had let go of the fact that nursing didn’t work out for us, and that my baby was just never going to develop a strong enough suck. And now, when you’d think I’d be so excited to throw the towel in and wean 100 percent, I am not getting any satisfaction from approaching the date I arbitrarily set. So maybe I’ll go until Feb 10, so we can officially be at a rounder time — 14 months. If I were just producing drops, it may make the most sense to stop, but I’m still doing an ounce or so a day. It’s not the best, but it’s not the absolute worst. It’s winter, and my one pump per day is right before bed, so what am I missing out on, anyway?

See how dysfunctional this thought process is? I should be happy to wean, but I am not. I should be happy to be free of pumping, of an electric nipple sucker, but instead, I am still holding onto this and trying to keep my baby getting some bits of breast milk for as long as possible. In some way, it’s like pumping has given me yet another life purpose: to provide sustenance and feed my baby, if now just a small amount… it’s still not nothing.

It was Tuesday, January 3, in the evening after Chris had put Kaia to bed in our hotel room. I was doing my second (and last) pump of the day, reading news in the food world, scrolling through Instagram mindlessly while finishing yet another hour-long pump session. And as I approached the end of that pumping session, suddenly, out of nowhere, the suction on the pump stopped, and all I could hear was a sad, faint clicking sound coming from inside the pump. The screen was still on, recording seconds that passed as though the suction was still working, but it was not. My Spectra S1 Plus pump, my primary, battery-operated pump, the one that I had purchased via health insurance about a month before I gave birth to Kaia, had finally died. Nearly 1,400 pumping hours later, my pump’s motor just stopped.

Name: Yvonne’s Spectra S1 Plus: the machine that enabled Kaia Pookie to have breast milk for almost 13 months

Date of birth: Thursday, November 4, 2021 (okay, fine… date of purchase, which is LIKE a birth in some ways)

Date of death: Tuesday, January 3, 2023

(and a mic, somewhere out there… drops)

I was in a hotel in Santa Ana, and I had no idea what to do next. I started panicking. I got emotional. My mind was spinning. This was NOT the way my pumping journey was supposed to end!!!!

My supply was already going down. It plummeted after I weaned down to 3 pumps per day in early November. It started going down even further in the days approaching Kaia’s first birthday, which coincidentally was when I got my second postpartum period. I knew my periods were to blame for my decreasing supply, since when estrogen in your body increases (that’s the hormone that enables your menstrual flow), prolactin, the hormone that enables your body to produce milk, decreases. But there was nothing that could be done about that. I knew that at this point in my journey, just days away from the 13-month mark, that my pump dying while on the road would be like a death sentence for my supply. I needed the stimulation, and even one or two days without any pump stimulation would force me to prematurely wean, whether I wanted to or not. And what’s even more ridiculous: if I didn’t pump and get any stimulation, I could even get another clog, which sounded so awful given how low my supply was at this point, but I’d heard of many weaning mothers having this happen to them. I needed another pump, and I needed it ASAP.

The next morning, I contacted Spectra’s help line. I had a two-year warranty and knew they would send me a new pump. After sending a video showcasing the sad clicking noise and sharing my proof of purchase, they sent me a new pump with new parts… which were supposed to be delivered by UPS 2-day, but instead due to some internal communication error on their side, was received on the following Monday. And in between, for 1.5 days, I borrowed a Spectra pump from a wonderful, selfless mother in Fountain Valley near our hotel, via the Facebook group Modern Asian Moms. I got so many responses in that group from my cry for help. I’d never felt like I belonged to a more inclusive and empathetic village than that day, when endless local “MAMs” as we call ourselves offered to lend or even GIVE me their Spectra pumps.

On Thursday, January 5, we flew back to New York and arrived back in the evening, and that night, I didn’t pump. I was just too tired. Until the evening of January 9, I only used my Baby Buddha breast pump with my Spectra parts. And as frustrating as it was, the Baby Buddha just wasn’t doing it for my body. No one ever warned me that your body gets “used to” a certain pump, and then it just doesn’t work well with other pumps. So the output was never the same, and because I wasn’t removing enough milk, my supply finally went down to the double digits in milliliters. It was so depressing… to see all my hard work over the last 13 months go down to almost nothing in just a matter of days. My output increased with that first pumping session back with my new Spectra, but at that point, it was too late already. My body had gone days without proper stimulation and milk removal, and I was barely pumping a total of 2 oz (60 ml) per day. And then it hit me: I really needed to draw the line there. I need to finally stop.

So I arbitrarily called it: January 24 will be the last day I pump milk for Kaia Pookie. On January 17, I will begin only 1PPD, which will signal to my body to produce even less milk. And I may only get drops, if anything, in the days following. But I need to stop now, as the tiny output just wasn’t justifying being connected to an electric nipple sucker for two hours each day, not to mention the constant measuring and storing of milk, the washing of the bottles, the time spent away from doing other things for the baby, Chris, or for myself. My baby will have had breast milk for the first 13.5 months of her life. My body has done a good job providing for Kaia — I kicked exclusive pumping in the ass. Unfortunately, though I wanted to go to 15 months, my pump made this decision for me, which I hate. But it is what it is. And when I really think about it — when I started this aggressive, exclusive pumping journey, my original goal was to get to six months; when my supply was still doing great at six months, I thought, okay, things are looking good. I have a good cadence, and I’m at peace with pumping, so then I extended my goal to one year. At nine months, when Kaia started consuming less milk and more solids, I saw all the breast milk piling up in the fridge and thought, wow! Maybe I’ll go past 12 months! Let’s do 15 months! And…. well, now, it’s not going to happen. And that’s okay. I need to give myself grace. My periods coming back, my pump dying.. these are forces outside of my control. I exceeded the smaller goals I set out, and 13.5 months it will be. I am proud of the work I have done, the diligence and perseverance and dedication to providing my baby breast milk. My baby is healthy and happy and safe, and that’s all that matters at this point to me.

So this is the beginning of the end to my exclusive pumping journey. It’s been a good, miserable, intense, and exciting ride, but I’m grateful for my pump and the advanced technology behind it, grateful for what my body has done, grateful for all the support I’ve had from my family, friends, colleagues, night nurses, lactation consultant, nanny, and especially to my Chris along the way. More people had to see my nipples than I ever thought. More people had to listen to me banging on collection bottles to ensure I got out every last drop of breast milk, of liquid gold. More people than I ever thought had to see me carrying around an electric device connected to my nipples in lobbies, hotels, restaurants, and different countries. But this all has been worth it. I am a better, more disciplined and learned person for it. I’ve gained a lot of knowledge and humility for this journey. And I have never, ever had more respect and awe than ever before for all the mothers out there who pump milk for their babies… and especially to those who exclusively pump. None of us pump because we love it… but we all pump because we love. And there’s nothing greater in the world than pure love.

Pumping mamas unite. <3

Since coming back to New York, I started splinting my left elbow again. My cubital tunnel was acting up the whole month we were away, and I regretted not bringing my elbow splint with me. I didn’t think much when packing and only packed my wrist splints. In retrospect, I should have packed the elbow splint, especially knowing that 1) I wasn’t going to have my proper desk setup for work, and 2) I wouldn’t have much childcare help, which meant lifting and carrying Kaia more. But in just a couple nights of splinting my elbow, it’s already feeling much better. I’m thankful I am at a place with my cubital tunnel where I know how to manage the symptoms and don’t need to let them escalate. This may be a life-long condition I have to deal with, and I definitely don’t want it to get worse. So if something minor like splinting overnight needs to be done, even if I feel and look like a robot, then I guess I will need to do it.

The last time I came to Australia in December 2019, that was before I started getting tingling in my fingers and hands from mild carpal/cubital tunnel syndrome. Back then, I had no idea what “cubital tunnel” even meant and that it was supposed to be carpal tunnel’s lesser known cousin. Then when I came, I just brought my laptop for work, and that was it. I had no special need for an ergonomic keyboard or a vertical mouse. But now I do. The only issue is… while the vertical mouse may be easy to transport, it’s not that simple (or a space saver AT ALL) to carry around an ergonomic keyboard. So I packed my laptop and vertical mouse while leaving the keyboard behind.

It makes a world of a difference to have the right keyboard and also to use the correct mouse. Out of laziness this month, I’ve just used my track pad. But my fingers, hands, and elbows really feel the difference. Even with wearing wrist splits to bed each night, I can feel significantly more stiffness and numbness/tingling in my hands than before this month, and it’s all because of having an inappropriate work setup. And since I’m at a computer less, I’m also at my phone more. And we all know that phone use is really want drove my cubital tunnel syndrome over the edge.

Even though I am not particularly looking forward to going back to winter or New York for the daily grind, I am looking forward to being in less tingly/numbness/pain in my hands/arms. It also doesn’t help my arms that I have more childcare responsibilities while here, but hey, I signed up for this, so I get what I asked for.

I told Chris’s mom that the tradeoff to having kids a little older is that although we don’t worry about money as much, more things hurt. When you have kids younger, you have less money but are less likely to get injured as much. She insisted it didn’t matter: she had kids in her 20s, and everything ached before they were even born. What joy.

In the days leading up to Kaia’s first birthday, my milk supply suddenly decreased quite drastically without any warning. It had already plummeted a little in October once I had my first postpartum period, and then again in November when I went down to three pumps a day. Around her 1st birthday was when I planned to drop to two pumps per day, but when I realized the Thursday before that my body had its own plans for my milk supply, I decided to do it the day before her 1st birthday. What’s an extra day? I thought.

The drop was over 200ml, nearly overnight. When it happened one day, I thought it was just a fluke. But in reality, it was real… because it kept happening every single day after that. Now, I am lucky if I pump even 300ml in a day, and even that seems a bit of a stretch. I originally thought I would keep going until 15 months, so the 10th of March, but at this rate, if my supply keeps dwindling, I may just need to fully wean and hang up the pumps sooner than that. I can’t continue to pump for two hours a day and not even get eight ounces of breast milk total per day. I know she loves my milk, though. So that also is another reason I want to keep going. But if the numbers keep going down, it’s just too much time for too little return at this point, especially since she does not really need my milk anymore now that she’s over 1 year old.

Dropping down to two pumps per day is quite bittersweet. I worked so hard to get my supply up, and now to see it dropping so drastically in a short space of time really hurt. It’s like I could almost feel the pain in my boobs and my heart when I saw the numbers consistently stay so low, day after day. Granted, it was my choice to drop pumping sessions when I did, but that’s the issue with exclusive pumping: it feels like a constant love/hate relationship where you are really battling with just yourself. The emotional roller coaster continues, even at the end of the journey. Can’t I just keep going? Why can’t I be one of those mothers who breastfeeds until 2 years? Chris keeps trying to make fun of me, saying that the “udder isn’t working anymore” and “the cow isn’t keeping up.” It’s easy for him to make fun; he never put in the blood, sweat, and tears into this maddening process. He’s never pumped milk; no man really has. And even those women who nurse and have never pumped… they don’t get the sweat and toil that goes into this. Chris’s cousin’s wife, who breastfed (nursed) all three of her babies and pumped occasionally for overnight bottles — she told me that what I did was the most intense work of all forms of baby feeding. And her husband said, “Pumping — it’s so many bottles to wash, so many pump parts to clean all the time!” Yep. He sees it, at least as an observer.

I love knowing that my body had given my baby so much sustenance and more in the last year plus of her life. I am grateful for what my body allowed me to do and the food it provided my baby. But I also look forward to the day when I no longer need to pump any milk at all and have my body fully back to myself. I will admit, though: two pumps per day is so liberating compared to 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7 pumps per day at the insane beginning. I may not even know what to do with myself and all this newfound free time as my nanny keeps making fun of me about. I may even put my Spectra breast pump on display in the apartment to remember my long, hard-fought journey to feeding my baby via exclusive pumping.