The Joy of Pumping

No, not breast milk pumping.  There is no joy in that.  Best thing I did was have no breast pump when I had A.  Pumping for an hour and producing less than an ounce of milk is not my idea of fun.

After constantly asking me for pushes and pulls on the swing, and insisting that she doesn't know how to pump her legs to keep swinging, N decided to give it a try.  And, now there is no looking back.  She can start swinging by herself and gets going pretty high.  She is so proud!

Now, I am able to relax on the deck, close to the door to hear A when he wakes up from his nap, and with a perfect view of N swinging to her heart's content.  Though, every 30 seconds she is calling to me:

"Can I pump?" - yes

"Can I pump higher than you?" - well, I am not sure about that

"Am I going high?" - yes

"Am I pumping?" - yes

"Am I going higher than Christopher?" - yes (who is not even here at the moment in question)

"Do you like how I can pump?"  - yes

"Am I higher than the road? - um, yes...though, I don't bother telling her she always is!

Pumping brings freedom to both her and me.  She can swing whenever she wants without needing me to push.  I can relax, read my magazine.  On the other hand, she no longer needs me to push, and that  truly is bittersweet.