Jaded and deflated

I hate my breast pump.

Maybe I shouldn't say that. I hate using a breast pump, any breast pump. It's an annoyance, a frustration, and a complete inconvenience. It was great when Grady was tiny, helping to relieve an oversupply, or helping me keep my supply up (and keep G fed) when I was away for a few days. It was even helpful a few months ago when G was in the hospital and wouldn't nurse. But that's just not the case anymore.

Really, it's not even the pump, it's more me. See, I've been trying to pump in the mornings lately to build up my freezer stock. Grady will need milk when I'm at Jerry's wedding in May, and I have to start now to have enough to leave for him. But I pump and pump, and the most I can squeeze out is two puny ounces. It's depressing. My supply is fine, but it has adjusted itself to accomodate G's diet of solid foods, and so there's just not as much milk as there once was. This is great in the day to day, but a real pain when you're trying to stash some extra for later.

On top of this, Grady has just decided to start biting. Hard. That one little snaggletooth really packs a wallop when clamped down in a sensitive area. This has caused some pain over the last day or so, and made me feel a little less than charitable toward my small son. It just hasn't been a good week for breasts--all things boob are bringing me down.