Pumping Buddies

I was totally spoiled at NYU. There was this single sized, carpeted locker room on fourth floor with a window, a cushiony chair, a bench for my pump, an outlet, and it locked from the inside. It was available pretty much whenever I wanted, because no one else was exclusively breastfeeding an infant while in their second year of business school.


At noon I would head up to the locker room and text Evelyn. She was my pumping buddy. I think every woman should have a pumping buddy. We would tell each other we were headed to pump and send each other messages throughout the day. This was huge for me! At NYU, business school kept moving whether I was at events or not, and it was so easy to feel like I was being left behind. At noon corporate presentations were being held, CEO’s were speaking at Lunch n Learns, or my girlfriends were going to Chipotle for a chicken burrito: all things I was missing because I had to pump.


Well, with my pumping buddy I was not alone. I had someone who understood how labor intensive pumping is. How you have to clean and pack and prepare for each meal you save when you’re away from your baby. My pumping buddy understood what a sacrifice it took to pump daily, but we also understood the reward – that when we returned home, we had milk enough to snuggle with our boys and nourish them from our bodies. The coolest thing was that we were pumping at exactly the same time. I knew that right at that moment, some hundreds of miles away in Chicago, someone else was pumping and thinking of their babies just like me.


Some days I was excited to pump only because Evelyn sent me a text message that she was going to pump. Some days it was motivation, because I knew that she was pumping for two, and that if she, as a first time mom could do it, I could definitely do it. Some days she would text and I wouldn’t reply because I was going later. Some days I would text, and she had pumped before me. But most days, we were in sync, supporting each other. I honestly believe I would have given up months sooner without Evelyn. I don’t think she understood how instrumental she was during the first weeks of pumping. She had been doing it all summer for her premie boys, but in September 2008 when school started, it was the first time I used the pump since Amari was 9 months old. I had savored in the freedom of nursing Joshua wherever I went. Something I had not had the confidence to do with Amari.


Evelyn, thank you. I did it with you.


November 6th, 2009 • 2 Years 2 Kids 2 MBAs, Breastfeeding, Motherhood, NYU Stern, The Lion, Wife.

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August is National Breastfeeding Awareness Month

I love and hate breastfeeding. I love it for all the health reasons for baby and me, and of course because of the closeness and intimacy created between my sons and I. I hate breastfeeding because the only way to keep doing it, is to do it A LOT. There are no days off when it comes to nursing. The more you nurse, the more milk you have, and the bigger your child grows, the more they eat.



With Amari, I had my first breastfeeding challenges when I was working and did not have an office, and there was no designated pumping area at work. At first, I asked other people if I could use their office to pump, but the only people who had offices who I was close enough to ask where men. One day, while I was pumping inside a male colleagues office with the door locked, I heard him fumbling around with his keys outside the door. Apparently, he hadn’t seen the sign I posted on his door, and open the door flew! I think that was one of the last times I pumped at work.



I was so flustered and angry that my job had not made a place for such a necessary component of life, that I took the matter into my own hands. By the time I left that job there was a designated place for ALL women at the workplace to pump (not just the salaried employees), which locked from the inside and had a couch, table, outlet, magazines and no toilets.



Applying to business school while exclusively nursing was a bit tricky as well. I pumped extra bottles whenever I could. When we attended Explore Wharton, our first prospective student event, we got a hotel room not far from the school (even though we lived only 15 minutes away), so that I could easily feed Amari during long breaks. At the Duke MBA Workshop, I would leave seminars early to go pump in the bathroom. Oh, I was so naive. The bathroom is a disgusting, disgusting place to pump. I eventually learned that all business schools had small private rooms for on-campus interviews, which are great places I could have used. I missed the workshop’s group photo because I was pumping in the bathroom. My life evolved around how many hours it had been since I last pumped. I tried not to go more than four hours without pumping, but life easily jumbled up that ideal schedule.



At NYU Stern, for Discover Stern, I was still not hip to interview room scene, but I did know that many places had refrigerators I could use to store my milk if I was going to be there for ten hours. I went through boxes of breast pads like water. I was never without one.



The second time around with Joshua, I knew that pumping was going to be a chore, but this time I wanted to exclusively breastfeed for six months. When I say exclusive, I meant not even introducing rice cereal until he was six months old.



I began this feat very aggressively. I planned to pump once immediately before I left the house for class, twice on campus, and then breastfeed upon walking in the door at home. I had located the PERFECT place to pump. There was a women’s changing room inside Stern that was large enough for two or three chairs and a bench. It locked from the inside and had outlets. I was in heaven! It was available every time I needed it. The best part about pumping at school was that my friend, Evelyn, who was pumping for her twin boys several states away, would text me right before she went to pump, so I felt like I was not alone. It was challenging keeping it up, because the social life in business school is extremely fast paced, and lots of times I gave up attending a CEO speaker or other event to go pump. I often felt left behind.



As October and November came around, I found myself only pumping once during school hours, and when I returned home sometimes Joshy had just eaten a bottle, and I was too exhausted to pump. Some nights I forgot to wash my pump, and then next morning I had to scrub it clean, find all the parts, two clean bottles, and make sure I’d remembered to freeze the icepack the night before.



Some days I just did not pump. Some days I longed to breastfeed Joshy when I got home, and not because of the physical relief, but because of the emotional relief. I was depriving him of our experience. Something that Amari had experienced in a much different manner. Holding and providing nourishment for your own infant is so incredibly intimate.



Eventually formula found its way into our home and became a staple of Joshua’s diet. I felt guilty about this, but told myself that there was no way I could be a fulltime MBA student, a wife, a mother to a rambunctious two year old, recruit for a fulltime job AND exclusively breastfeed. I could not do it all, and I could not be everything to everyone.



Recruiting for a fulltime job added a whole ‘nother dimension to the breastfeeding thing. Hubby and I attending the National Black MBA association and the National Society of Hispanic MBA conferences last fall. National Black was in Atlanta, and NSHMBA was in DC. In Atlanta, my dear friend and maid of honor babysat the boys when hubby and I had overlapping time commitments. He had to be present at his company’s event booth, and I had back-to-back first round interviews. As soon as my interviews ended, I rushed back to the hotel to nurse. Some days I went back and forth in a taxi three or four times. I felt like a lunatic paying $8 for a taxi just to go back to the hotel to pump a six ounce bottle, but Joshy was only 12 weeks old, so it was mandatory in my eyes. I simply did not feel comfortable pumping in the bathroom stall, next to a would-be job interviewer, so like a yo-yo I went in-between the convention center and our room. In DC, for NSHMBA, we bought an extra bus ticket for Marina Poppins, and she watched the boys while hubby and I attended the conference. My interviews were more intermittent, so I could plan my day around pumping much easier.



December of 2008 was the last time I breastfeed Joshy. When hubby and I heard that we could take a three-week course in Australia, we registered and said we’d figure out the details later. We were blessed to have hubby’s mom and aunt stay with us for those three weeks. It was in preparation for the trip that I decided to wean Joshua. The week before we left I only nursed him at night. By the time we boarded the plane, I wasn’t even wearing breast pads anymore.



In Melbourne, there were some days that I STRONGLY regretted weaning him. He was only seven months old. But, there were times when I thought, boy am I glad that I’m not lugging around a pump all day, as we traveled to the Melbourne zoo, attended Cricket games and toured wineries in Victoria.



My breastfeeding experiences have been like a roller coaster. Initially, I felt like a milk slave for Amari, but by the end of the experience, I couldn’t wait for baby number two, and now, for the next one whenever we’re so blessed. I was even bold enough to breastfeed in public (with a cover) with Joshua, and I wish I had been that brave the first time. I encourage all breastfeeding moms to keep it up!


August 5th, 2009 • 2 Years 2 Kids 2 MBAs, Breastfeeding, Gadget, Motherhood, NYU Stern, The Lion.

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Joshua’s Birthstory

It has been over a year, but I am finally getting around to writing Joshy’s birthstory. I should have done this the day he was born, because now the memories are foggy and the details are not as fresh in my mind, but its important to capture how my second son entered this world.

On June 18, 2008 my mother arrived in New York to be present at the birth of her second grandchild (as seeing that she missed Amari’s birth because he likes being early). We spent the day grocery shopping, and that afternoon I cooked a mean pot roast. As the dish was cooling, and I got on my computer to finish my new product concepts for work (yes, I was working from home, as an intern – how wonderful was that? But it was only because I was 3 cm dilated and my boss refused to let me come into work that day), I felt crampy and decided to call the doctor.

The doctor recommended I head on over to the hospital to be checked out because my due date was twelve days away. I finished packing my hospital bag, and asked my mom to get ready. Now, in a normal story, the wife calls the husband to tell him his next child in on the way, and he gleefully drops everything and heads straight over. My life is not normal, so instead of calling my hubby, I EMAILED him to tell him I thought I was in labor, because HE LEFT HIS CELL PHONE AT HOME. Hubby’s summer internship was on the trading floor. This meant he didn’t really have a desk like most jobs. This also meant he did not have a work phone, or frequent access to his email. I did not really worry, because it was not as if I was having contractions two minutes apart, so I waited while my mother fixed herself a tupperware container of pot roast so that she could eat dinner at the hospital.

Our wonderful childcare provider, known on this blog as Marina Poppins, stayed at home with Amari, and my mom and I took a taxi to the hospital. Everyone checking into the maternity ward that day was hugely pregnant, yet calm. So much NOT like the movies. I was given a nice sized room, and after my first examination the doctor told me I was already 5 cm (the goal is to get to 10), and that the baby would be here in within an hour! Woohoo! An hour?! Really?!! I was glad to hear that and began calling friends (what was I thinking?) to share the good news.

By now, I thought, it would be great if my husband were here. So I called the only other person I knew that worked at his job, his HR manager. My voicemail was something to the sort that I was nine months pregnant, possibly in labor and if she could just maybe let him know, perhaps, as soon as possible, that would be great! She later told me sent went flying out onto the trading floor searching for hubby, but thankfully, he had already left to head home. Marina Poppins told him we were at the hospital, so apparently, he too, fixed himself a container of pot roast to bring along.

After the doctor and nurses had me all setup with an IV, baby heart monitor and contraction monitor, the waiting began. The doctor reiterated that since this was my second, and because I was already 5cm, the baby would be here in an hour! That was great news, I was stoked. Hubby had arrived by then, and he and my mom helped themselves to their tupperware containers filled with delicious pot roast, which I never even got to taste. Hubby whipped out his laptop, and I thought, I know this negr- excuse me, man, did not just bring his computer to work on. He insisted it was for browsing baby names because we had not yet selected one. I okayed use of the computer ONLY for baby name searches. Me “David,” hubby, “no.” Me “Isaiah,” hubby, “no.” Me “Israel,” hubby, “no.” And so on went the night.

Rememer how I said I was stoked at the idea of having the baby in an hour? Well, at 6 PM, 7 PM, 8 PM, 9 PM and 10 PM when the doctor kept coming back to check on me, AND THE BABY STILL WAS NOT HERE, I started to think he was telling a tale.

I was very adamant that I was not going to have an epidural, so those five hours were spent very uncomfortably. The IV made me have to pee every ten minutes, which is such a chore when you have several monitors that have to be removed, and then reapplied everytime you shift. Eventually, the doctor broke my water, which was awesome! The contractions transitioned from manageable to OUT OF CONTROL. I think the sound of moaning is just too weird, so I would say “Ow, ow, ow, OOOOWWW!”

My mom was so uncomfortable seeing me in such pain. Hubby stood by my side, and didn’t pressure me to get pain relief, but the doctor wasn’t so kind. He poked his head in the door and told me to call him when I was ready for the epidural. I WAS NOT HAVING AN EPIDURAL. I didn’t have one with Amari, and therefore I didn’t need one now. Period.


But… I did remember there was a lil som’ som’ they could slip into my IV to take the edge off. After requesting it several times, the nurses kept telling me that it would make the baby groggy if he or she was born within the next hour. I reminded them that the doctor said that over five hours ago, and I was willing to take that risk. I can honestly say that my threshold for pain is very high (as evidenced by the fact that lived with acute and chronic gallbladder disease for over a year before I went to the ER to have my gallbladder removed), but I also require more drugs than the average person to feel relief. When I go to the dentist I get “extra” novacaine. Smiley face.


For the next few hours, I waddled back and forth from the bathroom after trying to time my bathroom breaks inbetween the contractions. I think I was a little out of it, because hubby and mom were so sleepy, that I started calling my bridesmaids. I just wanted someone to stay up and chat with me. What was I thinking?? Sometime in the early morning the doctor came in and said that he wanted to give me pitocin to make my contractions more regular, and stronger. STRONGER. Oh my Lord, I didn’t think I could take it.

My body was starting to feel like it needed to push, but I was not fully effaced, so if I did push, I could tear something that was NEVER supposed to tear. So, after a private conversation with hubby, I decided to get an epidural. Now, for some reason, I thought I would die if I got an epidural and it was not medically necessary. I’d seen some horrible documentary about this family who went to the hospital to have a baby, and the mom never came back home after bacteria got into her epidural.

This was bad news for the anesthesian, because he coughed while inserting the epidural. Please keep in mind, my hormones were raging, and I did not want this drug in my body. I was supposed to be as still as possible, without talking, but I had to stop and ask him if he had a cold and if he should even be at work that day. I think I even had the nerve to say, “Shouldn’t you go home?” I was not trying to leave my children motherless because of bacterial meningitis.

He assured me he was fine. Apparently, he was in-training, because he did not put it in correctly, or this was just another time when I needed more drugs than the average person. My doctor paged him to come back, and this time his supervisor re-inserted my epidural. I was not liking this at all.


Well, obviously, God knows what’s best for us, even the things we cannot perceive. The epidural relaxed me, and I quickly dilated the remaining centimeters. They warned me I may start to itch. I asked them if they meant itch like-a-crack-head itch, and they wouldn’t give me a direct answer to that particular question, but let’s just say I felt like Tyrone Biggums. They gave me a catheter since I couldn’t tell that my bladder was overflowing, and immediately after that I was fully effaced and dilated.

As the doctor got prepped for me to push, baby’s heart rate dropped dangerously low and he yelled, “WE’RE GONNA DO A PULL!!” A pull?! a pull?! What in the world is a pull? I hadn’t even given one push yet, wait, wait, please WAIT! Well, at this point I had no say in what was happening because the health of my baby was at risk. In the back of my head I knew what he meant by pull. He was so experienced at it, that he rejected the forceps the nurse handed him, and sprinted out and back in with HIS OWN forceps. He had a special pair that personally belonged to him. He told me to push, and he guided baby through the birth canal. I pushed with all I had, because I was just thinking, how can anyone breath halfway between the womb and the outside world?


The doctor told me to gently push again. The doctor realized baby was “sunny-side up,” or face up, and that was why baby took so long to drop. The orientation of the body, face up, makes things a bit more difficult. After the second push, baby came out. I was so happy baby was fine and breathing, we forgot to ask the sex. “It’s a boy!” My mother was convinced Joshy was a girl when she saw all the hair on his head, but my children are just blessed like that.

I couldn’t see what was happening, but hubby informed me he performed an episiotomy in order to make enough room for the forceps. When I heard that after the fact, boy was I glad for the second epidural. Hubby and I had not settled on a name, so right there, as they were calling out the time of his birth (5:38 AM), hubby said “so, how about Joshua. And I know you like the name Elijah.” And so, he was named.

When my mother stepped outside of the delivery room she witnessed the doctor curse out the anesthesian for making a mistake the first time, and for not coming quickly enough the second time. I guess he had paged her and her response time was too leisurely for him. Thank you, Dr. Doctor.


After all Joshua’s vitals were checked out (he weighed in at 7 lbs 6 oz), all the nurses and staff left the room and Joshy ate his first meal. I was so joyous that he was here safely, and that I was alive. Two more miracles to thank God for.

August 4th, 2009 • 2 Years 2 Kids 2 MBAs, Breastfeeding, Motherhood, Pregnancy, Stories, The Lion.

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127 Pounds

After two pregnancies, I am glad to say I am finally getting healthy. I think I gained around 27 or so pounds with Amari, and something similar with Joshy. Most of the weight vanished through breastfeeding, but it definitely redistributed differently.

I am currently motivated to lose weight by my appearance in clothes. I have an expectation of how I will look, and I am disappointed by my reflection, but I am empowered to know that I am changing that. This summer has been awesome for me. I have been burning between 300-500 calories daily on the stairmaster. I have lost 11 pounds since January 1, when I began my weightloss quest with the help of my Wii Fit.

Exercise was not enough to make these changes. I have had to change what I put into my body (although Hubby would say I have more changes to make). I eat oatmeal every morning with strawberries or granola on top. I am chidded for the dollop of whipped cream that I add.  My favorite lunch has become grilled flank steak with onions, green and chile peppers, marinated in a honey-teriyaki sauce, over brown rice. I enjoy most of my meals with water, or my new favorite drink, zero-calorie, did you catch that, ZERO-CALORIE lifewater made by Pepsi.

My goal now is to firm my abs, which have been stretched beyond recognition. I have taken one Pilates class which gave great instruction, but practice makes perfect. I am going to resume Pilates after I start working since I hear I can take a class during lunch at my new job.

July 20th, 2009 • 100 Life Goals, Breastfeeding, Health & Fitness, Pregnancy.

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Sprinkled with Granola

I just took the How Crunchy Are You? quiz, and scored a 36 (out of a possible 225). Some of the questions asked me about things I would NEVER consider. And some my answers that gained me points, I don’t think twice about. I am sure I added some crunch for exclusively breastfeeding, trying to eat natural and thinking about doing a lot of things, like having a home birth, but I would NEVER homeschool or practice child-led weaning, even if it meant the child breastfeed for YEARS. This means your next child could already be on the way, and then you would be doing what is called tandem breastfeeding, or nursing while pregnant.

I guess the only reason I am so vehemently against some of this crunchiness, is because I have been a working mother. I took five months off with my first child, and then worked for six months while Amari was in daycare. Next week, we will enroll both boys in daycare when we begin our fulltime jobs, so this whole nursing-for-years thing becomes almost impossible for WOHMs (you like my new term for working out of the home moms?).

Ultimately, I am fine with being sprinkled with granola, because that is how I like my oatmeal some mornings. Btw, the BEST granola EVER is Honey with Almonds made by The Baker brand.

July 18th, 2009 • Breastfeeding, Gadget, The Lion, WOHM.

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