My efforts, however, are increasingly becoming more futile. Before I returned to work, my complaints about pumping in privacy helped me secure a colleague's permission to pump in her private, windowless office whenever I have a few free minutes. Her office is in Siberia - clear across campus from me - but the door locks, and only she and security have the access key.
But here begins the series of problems:
Number One: finding free time.
Lunch for the high school teacher is a mere 30 minutes bell to bell, with 5 of those needed to usher kids out of the class and to greet them upon return. Subtract about 7 more minutes to get from my classroom to a potential pumping station and I am left with 18 minutes to put together my breast pump and eliminate my engorgement.
Number Two: finding a permanent pumping place.
Using the colleague's office has worked for the last four days. Though I have been rushed in my process, I've pumped a good 6 ounces for Ya's daycare bottles each time. Today, though, I carried my pump kit and munched on a slice of cold pizza (my lunch) toward Siberia and found the office door locked.
Sucking my teeth, I turned on my heels and walked to another colleague's classroom. She has a covered window on one door and a closet that blocks the view from another door's window. But in her classroom, she was not. Instead, I found a substitute sitting comfortably in a student desk in the middle of the room munching on a homemade PBJ sandwich. I assume he thought I was a student when I said, "Oh, she's not here," as he then asked, "Who are you looking for?" - a question that warranted a "duh" response. Of course I meant the usual teacher, but I politely answered him before venturing out in search of another pumping place.
I was told earlier in the week (during a mad dash toward the Siberia) that the nurse had a private restroom. I borrowed her key and after a fight with the lock (I turned it the wrong way), entered a dimly lit student restroom. I sought a handicap stall, but the plug was on the other side of the room. Great. Is this what I was reduced to? Though the bathroom was clean (due entirely to the fact that it is not in use), it is a bathroom. I stood in front of a mirror, pump in hand, trying to be as covert as possible with my process in the event that someone need to use the facility. I am in no way an exhibitionist. My pumping station was the sink, which conveniently allowed me to rinse the pump in the last minutes of my lunch period, but was otherwise a dismal and degrading location for such an important process.
Is it worth it? Surely I am not the first mother to return to teaching? In a career that draws more women than men, one might expect some accommodations. I mean, I'm not asking for free time, just a private space (preferably with a chair) that doesn't double as a human waste receptacle.
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