The Lactation Room, Part 2

So I’ve made it for about 7 months without actually using the Lactation Room on campus, in part because I never got around to filing the paperwork, in part because I still don’t know where the damn thing is, and in part because when you’re carrying three bags already as it is, it’s easier to just pump in a closet before your classes begin (and then again in the car after they’re done).

Trust me.

But at the end of the semester I had to stay late on campus to attend a student concert, and I had to pump, and I couldn’t pump in my usual closet, so went to HR a full three days ahead of time and asked for the paperwork for the pump room.

Except no one knew what I meant by “pump room” (even though I had seen a room with that very designation printed on the door just outside the library) and I couldn’t remember any of the more workplace appropriate euphemisms for “my boobs are leaking” (i.e. “lactation”) so I stood there just suggesting related terminology— nursing? breastfeeding? BABY???— until someone figured out what I was talking about and hurried me into an office down the hall.

I received a form to fill out and a lukewarm assurance that my swipe card would now give me access to the official Lactation Room, and that said suite was located somewhere nearby in an adjoining wing.

To be continued…

The “Lactation Room,” Part 1

A few weeks into our “breastfeeding journey,” some 9 or 10 months ago now, I find out there’s a form I need to fill out and file with my university’s HR department to gain access to the “Lactation Room” on campus.

I’m in a bit of a mood so I can’t help but wonder “What sort of fascist BS is this?” Unless of course the “Lactation Room” is super swanky with massage chairs, a swim up bar, and free artisanal coffee; then I am fine with filling out a form.

But somehow I doubt this.

Also? The form does not say where said “Lactation Room” is located so I guess when the day comes I’m just gonna have to keep my eyes peeled for another engorged looking professor and find some non-awkward way of saying, “Excuse me, can you take me to the place where we whip out the boobs?”

But it will be cool in the end because she’ll take me under her wing and teach me secret to creating a meaningful work/life balance and I’ll have a new BFF and our kids will marry each other someday and on their wedding day we’ll laugh and say how it all began when we were pumping breast milk in the Lactation Room.