My breastmilk frozen at (-)109 degrees F

Again, proof that when it comes to breastfeeding, there's very little room for tact. I am anticipating a very long drive this week to visit my in-laws. What is normally a long, boring five hour drive could very well develop into a 10 hour road trip to hell, depending on everyone's mood. (Five month old baby, strapped in a car seat, driving in 120 degree weather. I would rather shoot myself in the foot and then walk there.) However, while on our mini-vacation, my husband is taking me out on a "date" over the weekend. In fact, it will be the first time that we'll actually have some time alone, just the two of us. To prepare for this date, we have decided to try to transport a whole lotta frozen breastmilk so that the baby can be fed while we're out. Yes, I do have a breast pump (one that cost $200+ which my husband likes to remind me of). One that I thought I would use all the time. I mean c'mon! A fancy machine which would help liberate you from being tied to your baby 24/7? How wonderful that sounded. But I have to say quite honestly, I HATE USING IT. And besides, I happen to like being tied to my baby 24/7.

Nothing about using that machine is pleasant. The horrible sucking sound it makes~ like your 90 year old grandmother who suffers from emphysema whose oxygen tank is running out of air. (And that's when it's on the lowest setting.) The stupid plastic shields that get suctioned to your nipples~ AS IF your nipples haven't already been through enough trauma. And for god's sake, whose idea was it to make those damn plastic shields clear? Why would I want to watch the torture that is being inflicted upon my already sore breasts? It's like two clear funnels suctioned onto your breasts and then for each suction of the machine, you see your nipples being vigorously pulled thru the small end of the funnel. Breastfeeding alone takes all the "sexy" out of your breasts. They are left misshapen, saggy, and most of the time two different sizes. I do everything in my power to avoid having them be touched or bumped. But after watching them being sucked through plastic cones for 20 minutes actually makes putting on my bra a painful experience. (Yet another reason why wearing clothes at home is a stupid idea.)

And then to top off the whole experience, you have stupid little plastic bags taped to the end of the funnels which catch the milk being drained from you. These bags have little numbers on it which tell you exactly how many ounces you produce. As if I'm going to take my "liquid gold" down to the corner lot and trade them in for some cocaine.

I swear, as women, do we ever get away from the importance of numbers? It's numbers on the scale, our clothing size, our waist size, how much money we make, how many people came to our wedding, how much we dilate, how many hours our labor was, how big our babies were... AS IF pushing out a 6 lb. baby is any easier than pushing out a 9 lb. baby. I mean, really? Do you think our vagina can tell the difference between three pounds? No. A human head is a human head is a human head.

Again, I digress. So, the breast pump situation is pretty miserable. Imagine having two cones and two plastic bags hanging from your chest. There is a reason why the box for these breast pumps don't show a picture of a women actually using it. They could not make it look appealing with even the best photoshopping in the world. It really is that horrible. I've yet to meet a woman who uses it regularly who doesn't want to throw it out the window.

So, to avoid having to use the breast pump while on vacation and because I have bags and bags and bags of frozen breast milk in the freezer I am trying to transport the milk all the way to Las Vegas. The trick is to keep it frozen, otherwise if it thaws I only have a certain number of hours to use it before it spoils. It's like this crazy science experiment. So today I had the pleasure of describing to Dan at the dry ice store what my mission was. I'm not very familiar with the properties of dry ice but I do know this could be a good solution. So thank you Dan, for properly explaining how to pack it, how much I should buy, and the correct term for when dry ice turns from a solid to a gas (sublimation). While he was very sweet, I could tell that he just did not want to say the words "breast milk". It would have been much too embarrassing for him to utter those words in his place of business, as I'm sure that Dan was surrounded by a bunch of men.

I am now ready to begin my travels by placing my frozen breastmilk in a styrofoam cooler full of dry ice. Let's just hope that the gas that it produces does not make us all pass out on our first cozy family road trip. Regardless, is has to be better than using that damn breast pump.