I have lurked and unwillingly been dragged into a few threads about women’s issues in my brief blogging career. I’ve read about total strangers’ menstrual cramps, hot flashes and parenting philosophies. But this weekend I discovered seomthing new from the mother of a two week old baby girl: the “pump and dump.”
Several of us were at the surprise birthday party of one of our friends, but we were also eager to see the new mommy for the first time since her emergency C section. The mother is a sweet young lady, who always seemed rather naive and wide-eyed about the whole process of gestation. Everything was a wonderful surprise to her, except for the fact that drinking and recreational drug use were off-limits until term.
I was worried that during the breast feeding period her monasticism would have to continue, and she wouldn’t have any fun at the party. Then I noticed her knocking down a Jager shot. “What’s up with that?” I asked. “Pump and dump, dude! Pump and dump.” Whereupon, she excused herself to the ladies room, drained the udders and flushed it down the loo. She said she had been pumping all day to get ready for the pary and had a pretty good alcohol-free reserve built up.
I don’t know whether I’m revolted or tickled by this practice. Is this for real? Can you just wait to process everything out like sitting at the bar drinking cokes until your BAC gets low enough to drive? I’m glad she’s happy and the child is being fed naturally, but WTF?!
We also discussed the incongruity of the fact that you can take no depressants at all during pregnancy, but if you get a Caesarean, apparently Percocet and morphine are immediately back on the menu. I came up with the idea that if that were to happen anyway, why not have a tattoo artist standing by to go ahead and get that Maori symbol for strength or your baby’s name scripted out while you have the spinal block and morphine buzz going good?
That’s another reason why I have not been encouraged to breed…