Ahead of My Time

D's NICU was in a hospital fairly close to our former home. To drive there, we drove down Burbank Blvd. and turned right onto Sepulveda, past the two-story Target, and then on to the hospital.

When D. left the NICU, we brought him home and thought things would get better. And they did, and they are -- but I was a long way from healed. I'm still a long way from healed. And a couple weeks after D's NICU stay, I needed to go to Target, so I set out from home, down Burbank, right on Sepulveda, and suddenly -- I turned around, drove the other way, and found a different Target.

People told me it would pass.

I had another baby, and then I had one more. And I thought I might pump a little milk for this one, so that the housekeeper (who starts TOMORROW, yo!) could feed Baby A. sometimes, so that I can work, or go out for lunch, or rest. And I asked around about a pump, specifically an Avent Isis manual pump. And everyone I know offered me an electric Medela Pump-in-Style. And I started hyperventilating.

When D. was in the NICU, I had to use that electric pump to establish a milk supply. It was a whole week before I nursed him. That pump, to me, symbolizes the start of a terrible, terrible time in my life, and there is NO WAY I am EVER going to use it again.

Everyone thinks I'm nuts. Well, everyone except the New York Times. They get it.

Now, granted, my kid didn't spend 100 days in the NICU, but our time there was horrific, in part because we had a full-term kid who was SICK and no one knew why. I told everyone back in the day that I had PTSD, and they all laughed. And when I declined the electric pump, they laughed again. In fact, one person actually told me she had an Avent Isis, but she wouldn't let me use it because it couldn't be sterilized. WTF? Is it me, or are people just plain WEIRD?

Anyway. I feel vindicated. But I wish I didn't have to.