A 10-hour Layover and My Most Embarrassing Moment

Disclaimer: this post is not for those who get nervous or squeamish around conversations involving babies, pregnancy, or motherly duties. You know who you are. Seriously, I don't want any irate or annoyed comments about this post. You've been warned. 

I wasn't planning on writing any posts until I returned from Haiti, but I'm on a 10-hour layover in Fort Lauderdale, and something just happened that I will never be able to write about it the same way as I can right after it happened.

This story must be prefaced with the fact that I breastfeed my 3-month-old-- not because I think she'll grow up dumb or end up in jail if I don't, but because I know it's good for her, and also it's 100% more free than formula. That said, I have nothing against formula and completely understand many mothers don't nurse because either they are unable to, it doesn't work with their lifestyle, or their babies have an intolerance to their milk etc. This is not a "breast is best" post, this is about my embarrassing moment.

I bought a manual pump to take with me to Haiti so when I get back I can still nurse my daughter. Since I am on this horribly long layover with nothing to do, and I hadn't nursed my daughter since right before I was dropped off at the airport, seven hours prior to what I will forever refer to as, "the incident," I decided it was a great time to pump. 

I proceeded to the stall that was as far back into the women's restroom as possible. As I was pumping I was distinctly aware of everything and everyone outside of my little stall. I could hear chatter over a janitor's radio, and thought to myself, radios sound so official; why does that make me feel like I might get in trouble? I sat in the stall laughing on the inside about how ironic it was that I felt like I was doing something wrong when really all I'm doing is trying to be a good mom. 

While I was laughing on the inside, I was thinking I would love to tell my sister-in-law, a mother of 3, that I would like to add manually pumping breastmilk in an airport bathroom stall to the list of things I never want to do again. Still laughing on the inside, I disassembled the pump, and to my horror, I dropped a piece, which proceeded to roll over into the next stall. I leaned down, hoping no one was in the stall, and my dignity all but vanished as I watched a stranger's shoe tentatively slide the piece back into my stall's territory. I quickly memorized the shoe to ensure I would never make eye contact with its owner. 

I spent the next five minutes standing in the stall hoping I could remain anonymous. My efforts were not in vain, because I checked everyone's shoes out while I washed my hands, and none were a match to my stanger's shoe. 

After sharing this story with my sister-in-law, she said I had to write about it. I told her it was extremely embarrassing, but I guess that's what makes a story good. If you were able to enjoy some laughter at my expense then my work is done here.