The sisterhood of the traveling breastpump

(Q: How many times will I use the word "breast" in this post?

A: Many, many times more than I had to actually say the word to strangers during this past weekend's trip, thank goodness as I tend to stumble and blush when doing so.)

I am proud and grateful that I am breast(1!)feeding, that it is possible, even easy, for me to do so. I read about women not being allowed to nurse in public or being hassled for needing to pump at work and I feel grateful to have had a relatively easy road (especially if you don't count my ridiculously poor public nursing skillz: I always either flash several people, leak all over my shirt or both).

But I was extra nervous for my solo flight to a friend's wedding this past weekend (Woohoo! A whole bag of peanut M&Ms THAT I DON'T HAVE TO SNEAK OR SHARE!). I would be carrying on my breast(3!)pump and, on the way back, a small cooler full of breast(2!)milk. I made the mistake of Googling "carrying on breast(4!)milk" and read horror stories. Specifically, it seems many women are hassled by TSA for carrying on breast(5!)milk without a baby, which, DUH, why would I have all this breast(6, oh, forget it)milk if I had the baby with me?? Others had posted that TSA gave them a hard time for the pump itself, especially since many don't come apart easily so it looks suspicious on the xray.

So, me being me, I worked myself into quite a lather about how this would all go down.

What actually happened? I carried on my breastpump with no problem, not even a question.

I cried like a fool at the wedding (OF COURSE),

(I think she gave me a corsage for the dedicated pumping that was required to get me there.)

cried when I saw the garden where CG and I were married

(I walked down the aisle to relive the glory, of course.)

and pumped like a fiend and stored the milk in a refrigerator at the place I was staying.

(Must have pumping accessory: vital cultural reading)

When I left NY yesterday I packed some bags of ice into a little insulated cooler with the breastmilk bags stuffed in. I didn't even bother to measure them into 3 oz bottles or put them in a quart sized ziploc. I figured if they gave me a problem I would just dump them. I am cursed/blessed with an oversupply problem so even though throwing away pumped breastmilk would feel like a colossal waste of my hard earned effort and time, I would rather do that then get even more worked up about it.

I got into the security line with my pump and my wad of full breastmilk bags and sweated a bit as they went through the xray machine. And then the TSA folks did.... nothing. NOT. A. THING.

So there you have it, my friends.

Now if only I had thought ahead to how exactly I would pump in the airport after getting through security. I should have known there was a battery pack for my pump. Then I could have at least pumped in the relative privacy of a bathroom stall.

But instead, I sat on the floor of the United terminal bathroom, draped my coat over my shoulders and pumped away much to my embarrassment and the amusement/shock of my fellow bathroom visitors. (There was one lady who tapped me on the shoulder -making me jump out of my skin and drop my pump pieces- and said "right on!")

The things you learn...