Mammary Memories

Breast Pump, two words that send shivers down any normal mother's spine. Words when said independently don't wield nearly as much power. Until a recent conversation with a neighbor, I had not noticed that I had filed memories of pumping into the far reaches of my subconscious. Enough time has passed that I no longer hear the churning rhythms of the pump in my nightmares. It has been months that I have not compared myself to a barnyard animal. And, I have been able to drive with both hands on my steering wheel since September. Yes, for those of you that do not know, I pumped while driving for six long months. (Pashminas can only hide so much while you are stopped in traffic on Pulaski. God forbid I was pulled over. Public indecency along with reckless driving come to mind). I know motherhood automatically bonds our gender, but do we need to talk about pumping? Those of us who have been disconnected do not want to reminisce. Leave me to my hands-free delusions thank you.