Hilarious. I found a link to this on Shu's (Shoe under Connections) blog. The title on talking breast pumps caught my attention and I was like, "What??!". Led to me reading through this entry and I found the one I've pasted below in the comments section to the main entry. Gave me a good little chuckle. Guess a sleep-deprived mum needs some form of entertainment in those wee hours feeling like the little prince or princesses' royal cow. I mean look at the times she wrote...I am sooooo not looking forward to that kind of life. And yet, a child a is a gift from God. A precious gift. It's torture for some time but all the mums I know say it's worth it. Very much worth it. Even if the husband is totally indifferent and you're left with housework, screaming baby, other responsibilities and no rest. That's why it is soooo necessary to have God.
Amy S Says:
July 13th, 2008 at 5:35 am
I kept a journal for a little while, at the beginning of my motherhood sojourn. Here is my talking breast pump entry:
Mar 16, 3:14am:
“Snap my arm, snap my arm, snap my arm…”
I truly think I’m losing it. It’s the middle of the night, I’m sitting in the dark, on the edge of my bed, pumping and pumping for eternity. One ounce. My robe is agape, the AC coaxing goosebumps from the frigid expanse of each exposed breast, and the whirring message of the breast pump only offers more confusion to my already muddled, sleep-deprived mind.
“Snap my arm, snap my arm, snap my arm…”
Two ounces. If I’m not just sitting here in a stupor, with literally no thoughts slogging through the muck that passes for my mind lately, I am puzzling out my secret message. Is it telling me to snap its arm? My own? It doesn’t even have arms, so it must be mine its speaking of. But why is it saying “my” then? Is my subconscious speaking to me through the breast pump? Why should I snap my own arm? Am I self-damaging? Delusional? Is this PPD? I don’t feel depressed… Do I? No, of course not. No, maybe I’m taking this too literally. What does snap my arm mean? Really mean? Broken arm, broken limb, useless limb, crippled limb, crippled. Crippling, is the pump crippling me? It’s never enough, not for Caiden, not for working. I can’t be a good mother if I can’t breastfeed, can’t breastfeed if I can’t pump. Can’t pump at work so I can’t breastfeed so I can’t be a good mom. Working is crippling me as a mother. AHA!!! STOP WORKING!!!
Three ounces. “Snap my arm, snap my arm, snap my arm…”
- End of entry. I put in my two weeks notice shortly after that long night.
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