Mum's a juggler

The kids wonder why I loose the plot on a daily basis, that’s how the word mumnesia was born. It’s been my saving grace since I stopped breast-feeding the very last child, for 22 years I had “lactating brain” to hide behind. All is forgiven when you have lactating brain. Then 3 years ago, when little miss mischief turned 4, I called it quits, finito, the milk bar has shut up shop. I put my well-used breasts into permanent retirement, expecting the immediate re-emergence of the long dormant quick thinking, intellectual, dynamic brain cells that I once owned. I’m still waiting.

Apparently my intelligent brain cells fled in fear at the sight of my mighty breasts and the life that revolved around them. What I lost in height I made up with cup size. I personally believe that my savvy brain cells having witnessed the effects on the chin, cheeks & belly, flew the coup long before they too were dragged down with the breasts heading perilously southbound towards the map of tassie.

I wish my ex-brain cells the best of luck where ever they are.

There are days when I wish they would return even if its just to pay a short visit, in time of my need.  As a mother, business owner, employer, design consultant, public speaker, small business advisor, parent mentor, what’s left of the brain cells allows me to do what all other mothers have to do; juggle. Mothers are the people that can juggle the best.

Most mornings it’s a 5am start at the factory, before 8am I leave to take over the child maintenance shift from Husband who is about to depart for work. Most times it’s easy, some times not.

All’s not well at home when I arrive this morning, darling husband walks out with a scowl and a huff, Little Miss Mischief is in full gemini mode. I seriously consider stowing away in my husband’s car instead of facing a rueful gemini tweeny. She’s cemented on her bed, just in knickers, electric shag hair and a look that could launch a nuclear missile.

At this moment I’d have more chances of surviving a global holocaust than getting her ready for school in the next 10 minutes. Drawing on the two best friends any good parent has; distract & diffuse, the double D method, yet when the situation is dire, the back up plan of ignore & bribe proves itself as a sanity saver. Looks like the IB method will the one this morning. Take a really deep breath.

I ignore the razor sharp dagger eyes burning multiple targets on my being as I toss her, her uniform and march out the door to the kitchen to prepare the special ‘mum style noodles’ for breakfast. A complete bribe that works every time.

I have a truckload of deadlines today to contend with and Little Miss Mischief still isn’t dressed

Scooping up her clothes and tossing them into my Mary Poppin’s bag, I throw her over my shoulder and charge towards the car. We have 3 minutes to get to school before the curfew.

I’m proud she dresses herself en route. We get there on time but the parking lot is full. Why cant there be a kiss and drop off section?

Down two blocks I squeeze my car in. We are now in curfew time that means the office, paperwork and a huff from her teacher, Mrs Personality Bypass. The trilli-second that I’m late will now add another 20 minutes.  I have to stand in line with all the other mums reporting to the office for late notes. All in the same irritable mood. One mum asks the admin assistant why do we have to do this? I’m late as it is. Murmurs of agreement can be heard along the queue. The casual “It’s to report child abuse” reply from the office assistant has one mum riled, “What about Mum abuse!! Do you honestly believe I going to write we’re late because I beat my child on that note!!!” Irate mum is waving the late register around furiously with her hands. Lets add another 5 minutes to the 20.

Little Miss Mischief is clutching my leg and I feel her hot tears seeping into my jeans. Protection mode sets in, all I want to do right now is to scoop her up and escape. Drive right on back to 6 years ago when I had everything money couldn’t buy; poverty, love, bonding and the deep satisfaction of knowing that the kids & I could survive it. All we had was each other. Believe it or not there’s quite a lot of freedom in poverty.

Tough love takes over. Withdrawing from the heated scene, I march towards the classroom with my daughter still firmly anchored to my leg and scribbling a late note on the way. The handwriting is a little jerky. Mrs Personality Bypass hands me back the note and demands a proper one from the office. I sigh, but what I really want to say is “Oh you mean the register that costs the school around $50 from the department of education? Let’s just say I saved the school some money this morning. It has my reason, a date and most importantly my signature!” Prizing daughter from the leg, with a strong hug and a kiss I guide the unwilling child inside the classroom before another scene manifests itself.

Not the most intelligent morning, but it was a juggling exercise of some success. I know that by days end, I will have juggled all 350 emails, answered all phone calls important and non important, the large warehouse order will be shipped out today, the new shelving will arrive, the old shelving moved out, the air conditioner will be repaired, accounts will be in order, the missing delivery will turn up and all pigs are on the launch pad and are ready to fly.

When mothers label themselves as a WAHM, SAHM or a GTWM, I say I’m a juggler.

That Hairy, Scary Parenting Moment

Anyone that is parent will have a moment to tell, when they had a hairy-scary parenting moment. The type of moment that sends a chill up memory lane, a moment in time when you had to do something as a parent that really wasn't what you wanted to do but you had to do it. I have a had a few of these over the years, but it was the first one that still stays with me.
My darling oldest boy was then 5 and had just started kindergarten. He loved school and had loads of friends, it was getting him ready for school that was the problem. A problem that had me tearing out my hair every school morning. He just didn't want to get dressed!!!!
Each morning was a battle of biblical proportions, that usually saw me dressing him in his school clothes at the school gate, driving off to the parents to drop the younger ones off, then zooming to work. I was left with a mere 2 seconds to collect my sanity, shake of the inner turmoil before starting work.
Each evening, the clothes laid out, I would plead with him to get dressed in the morning before putting the TV on. Logical as it may sound, in reality it didn't work. Pulling the plug on the TV, packing away the TV, or threatening with hell far worse than being shipped off to his other grandparents didn't work either.
One morning, frantically late, I had to pick up the kicking, screaming, pyjama clad cutie under one arm, his baby sister held on the arm, whilst this toddler brother Drue, became a pack mule carrying the school bag, handbag, baby bag and car keys. At the school, the bell had already rung, I tore his pj's off and dressed him while mopping away stressful sweat from my brow, I warned him "Refuse to get stressed tomorrow and you will go to school in your pj's. I am just dropping you off and that's it!!". He turned into the school with quavering lips and a look that smacked off "You are the meanest mother in the world!". I drove off wanting to heave up what I didn't have for breakfast.
That night I reminded him, he screwed up his face and stormed off to his bedroom. Stomp, stomp, stomp and slam!
The next morning, still refusing to get dressed, a repeat of the day before, but this time I drove to the school and told him to go in the gate by himself. Well the temper tantrum started as he clung to me, I dragged my leg that held the green frog, printed pyjama clad boy glued solidly in place into the gate to a teacher. Prized him off and ran like the bejeesus to the car, legs wobbling, chest panting, head pounding and heart aching all the way. What have I done?
When my dad picked him up from school, he had stomped to the car with school hat, blue socks, black school shoes, green pyjamas, a face in a tight scrawl and arms folded even tighter. He wasn't happy.
That evening he gave me the icy cold shoulder and the silent treatment.
The next morning, he wasn't getting dressed until I reminded him I could do what I did the day before. He snatched his clothes of the chair storming off to his room. Stomp, stomp, stomp and slam!!.
He came out a little while later fully dressed and it was only 7.30am. Ryan and his little brother Drue, escaped outside for some playtime on the bikes, which hadn't happened before, because we spent hours arguing over a 5 minute job of getting dressed. At the school gate later, we all walked him in, gave him a big kiss and a hug. I went to work for the first time without knots in my stomach.
The next morning, he was up, dressed and playing outside with his brother before I even finished my shower. Never again did Ryan need to be pushed into getting dressed.

The secret really wasn't the just act of following through on a threat, but the consequences themselves. Previously I had warned him with disciplinary actions such as no swimming or treats after school, which he accepted. Threats like that are really choices given to a child, he really didn't care if he didn't swim or get a treat that afternoon, but going to school in his pj's wasn't a choice but a direct result of his own actions. The humiliation and the taunting by his peers was suffered by him and him alone, due to his own fault, (I never admitted to him the excruciating emotional pain I suffered the entire day).

The Bad Mothers Club

Honestly it's true! there really is a website called The Bad Mother's Club, or
www.realmums.com.au Headed by Amanda Cox, unashamedly a bad mother of 3 boys, or in the real world, just a normal everyday reality checked mum with kids she loves but keeping it real.
We have all done things as parents that might make others on the surface say "Tsk, Tsk, what a bad mother" but deep inside they are really saying "Thank god, I'm not the only one".

So the next time you do any from the list below

Give your kids cereal for dinner, on the couch, in front of the TV.

Yell at your kids for misbehaving instead of saying in a demure soft tone "please don't do that darling"

Still be in your pj's when you drop the kids off at school

Still be in your pj's when you pick the kids up from school

Let them sleep on the couch, because they were too heavy to move to their own beds.

Stayed in the toilet with the door locked for longer than necessary, because counting to 10 in deep breaths still hadn't taken the edge of it.

Reminisced about life from prechildren days

Imagined life post children days

Said "Not today darling maybe tomorrow" most days.

Gave your child a Chocolate bar to eat 20 mins before school started, because you really didn't like their teacher, and it was the only creative form of revenge you could think of at the time.

Play musical beds; the bed you started in might not be the bed you finally woke up in the morning in a vain attempt to get some fractured sleep.

Think your child is totally a beautiful angel that is so scrumptious that you could eat them, and you only think this, falling in love with them again when they are asleep, but you could have murdered them a few hours earlier.

Your heart skips when they hurt themselves, sleep over at a friends house the first time, are late home from a friend's house or the phone rings when they are not at home.

Forgot about the important "Teddy Bears picnic" day at preschool.

Made a less than extremely awesome perfect Easter hat for the Easter Hat Parade, because someone else's mum can do it so much better, even though it took you countless hours and the will power greater than Hercules not to eat all those yummy chocolate Easter eggs.

Cant help but smile when you pick them up from daycare, childcare, preschool, school, high school, tafe, university or the airport.

Feel guilty about your parenting skills

Think they are the best thing that has happened to you, but secretly wish for a reprieve from them every so often.

If you have done anything from the list above or remotely similar, pat yourself on the back, you are a "TOTALLY AWESOME WELL LOVED PARENT!"

In real reality, really bad mothers wouldn't spend their time going to such websites, voicing off or actually committing voyeurism (seeing if other mums are doing the same things as you), these real, really bad mums wouldn't give a flying f@#k. They are parents because they could, because nature allowed them to be fertile. I have had enough of their offspring grace my home over the years to know when a child was just an unfortunate byproduct of a relationship.

There are 2 mums over the years that I came across in my world that would probably get the worst mother in the world trophy. One mum had 2 daughter's, at the time the 11 year old had severe mental problems and her younger sister a 9 year old, was a good friend of my oldest daughter, then also 9. It was 11pm, I was just going to bed, when there was pounding on the door. Opening the door to little Hayley, tears streaming down her cheeks, she was covered in blood and it was pooling on the veranda. Her older sister had stabbed her in the arm during an argument with a carving knife.
We whisked her off to the hospital, and we let the staff know about the sister. Where was their mum?Apparently their mum wanted some real time to herself, knowing that she wouldn't be able to get a babysitter for the older girl, decided that the younger girl was quite capable to act as guardian, while she went for a 6 day holiday to the Whitsundays. Nice.
Nice that she didn't leave behind any contact details in case of an emergency. She didn't let neighbours know of her plans or family members, but she did tell fellow workers of her holiday, though they were under the impression that the girls were going with her. It also, as we soon discovered, wasn't the first time she had left the girls behind so she could go on a holiday with a bloke.

The second Mum, had 6 children ages ranged from 3 to 16 years. Everything was fine until the marriage broke down, the mother fell into a pattern of spiralling depression and despair fuelled by copious alcohol consumption and plenty of drunken one night stands. One bloke staid on, as the mum was now on a pension, with a tidy fortnightly sum of money to pay for his and her alcohol habit.
The two older kids had part time jobs after school, it was their money that was supporting the family. When things started disappearing from the house, there was a brawl between the eldest son and the man. All 6 kids turned up at our house afterwards. Chris's face was a mess, but he was proud of the damage he had down to his 'stepfather', also proud that he had stood up to him, ordering him to leave the home before the kids got back. I wasn't so sure, but they all stayed the night, and phone calls to their mother were left unanswered. The man left thankfully, the kids returned home with the aim to seek help for their mother. She did clean up her act for a while, but it was only a short while, it wasn't long before her pub crawling days returned. She could be seen staggering in the middle of the road hurling abuse at oncoming traffic, sometimes little Bianca was with her.
A year had passed when the old boyfriend returned. Another brawl had occurred, this time the mother left with the boyfriend. When she left so did her income, the only money that came in was from the older children's part time jobs. For 6 months, they paid the rent, bought groceries and paid the bills, secretly trying to keep the family together. They even had us fooled. They did remarkably well until Lucia got appendicitis. Chris not quite 18, couldn't sign the paperwork at the hospital. It didn't take the hospital staff very long to figure out the kids were lying about their mother's whereabouts. Chris had said she was away on a business trip in Melbourne, and Patricia said she was visiting a sick relative in Darwin. Doc's was called in taking the children onto foster care, separating the family for the next 3 years.
It was quite a few months after the kids were taken into care when their mother came home. She turned up on our doorstep and stammered, rather not politely "Where the f..k are me kids!" Chris & Michael were placed with us and luckily the others were fairly close by with other families.
Chris, now 25, owns his own air conditioning installation company, has permanent custody of Stephen, Lucia, & Bianca who all attend the local high school. Michael is in the RAAF and Patricia is studying Law at Sydney University.

I don't know what happened to Hayley and her sister, except that their father was located and they went to live with him in rural Victoria.

Summertime and the toilet training is easy, fish are jumping and the cotton is high.........

My mother's answer to any childhood rearing strategy or problem was 'summertime'. More often than not for some uncanny reason she was right.
When it comes to toilet training, she was spot on. Summertime is the best time to toilet train your child. The best summertime is the one where your child will be 2 to 2.5 years of age. Any earlier, you'll be wasting your time and diminishing your sanity, in winter, you'll be fighting a battle you just cant win. A cold toilet seat doesn't quite emit a welcoming hello to a new and permanent stage of life.
I believed that mum used to use the excuse of summertime so that she could sing her favourite song,"Summertime". Scarlett Johansson does a fabulous sultry version, her cover can be found for a pittance on ITunes.
From the very first time I could remember mum sing that song I instantly learnt the art of selective deafness. Though my mother's eyes would light up and she looked positively beautiful when she sang it, as long as I wore my invisible earmuffs, just watching her sing was delight enough, I was never going to rain on her parade. Unfortunately years later the grandchildren weren't quite so diplomatic.

Now that you know that summertime is the best time to toilet train and pack away the nappies for the next baby, there are a few other tips that come in handy.
1) boys are way easier than girls! that's because they have the fun appendage to point and squirt with.
2) start with a potty on the ground, not straight on the toilet. This is as terrifying as the Santa Claus in the shopping centre.
3) best to do it in 2 stages, No 1's (pee's)  then the No 2's (poo's)
4) To 'warm' little one's to the whole idea of toilet training, start with taking them to the toilet with you for a while and show them the "grown up" way of doing things. A few weeks of showing them No 1's before the No 2's. For most parents it's an invasion of privacy, but lets face a fact, once you became a parent, privacy went  permanently AWOL. Leading by example, and 'showing the ropes' so to speak are very effective learning techniques and leads to quicker success in the whole toilet training process.
5) a good indication that your child is ready for toilet training is when they start to hide when filling their nappies. A lot of toddlers will seek privacy away from others.
6) Day time toilet usage should be successful for around six weeks before the night time part.
 A lot of toddlers will  become naturally 'dry' anyway.
7) Clothing - make it easy! no button up shorts or overalls. Elasticised shorts with pull up nappies should be living in the wardrobe for this time.
8) Toilet training should initially be staged at home, once they are comfortable then trial the 'out & about' part. Take a couple of extra pants along.
9) never 'toilet train at gunpoint', expect it to be a hit and miss affair. The right kind attitude will make it more a hit affair than a miss. Encourage with 'high 5's' or being told how grown up they are. The first time they actually tell you they need to go to the toilet, should be given the same fanfare as the Nobel Prize for Peace. Your child will be so proud of themselves and to see how much joy it brings you, they will want to keep doing it.
10) If your child has been toilet trained for a little time and a new baby arrives. Don't be surprised that they might 'need' nappies again for a little while. Regression of this type is normal if they are the oldest child. Don't get cranky, but overcome this hurdle by encouraging them to be 'grown up' again by helping with the baby. If they feel that 'mummy needs me', their sense of self value will return as they now have a very special role in the home, the 'big brother or sister'.

Patience, praise and perspective, let's face it,  you won't find any 21 year old still in nappies!

Don't judge a book by it's cover

My heart holds graves fears for a little 6 year old girl that has disappeared off the face of the earth some months ago. I feel for the parents. My son once vanished for more than 3 hours from a shopping centre.

I had taken my eye's of him for no more than 10 seconds. As night time fell, and the centre voided of its occupants except for centre management, the search police, 2 detectives and 2 DOC investigators drilling me about my parenting skills, we all held graves fears as to the were abouts of my beautiful 2 yr old son. He was eventually found in a tight sleeping ball, totally unaware of the chaos, heartache and panic he had caused. 23 years later I still get goose bumps thinking about it.

Splashed across the papers, the parents hardly sent their daughter to her first year of school, giving the general public an impression that neglect ruled their household, therefore unworthy to be parents at all. We don't know the circumstances as to why the little girl barely attended school. Let's not judge a book by it's cover and with newspapers, we all know that headlines that bleed, lead.

When young Ritch started kindergarten, he only went to school 2 days a week out of the mandatory 5. I was in the last year of my degree, living in a small country community that was barren of the essentials suburbia has to offer, like child care.  I had to leave for Uni much earlier than his school bus arrived, and I would be home much later than he would be in the afternoon. Leaving a 5 year old alone in the most haunted house in the district or possible the state wasn't a friendly option.
Originally I organised a neighbour to take him along with her daughters that attended the same small school, also look after him after school. After 2 weeks, one afternoon I found him waiting at the front gate for me. The neighbour wanted to go shopping so she sent him home. He had to walk along a lonely country road for more than a kilometre, too terrified to be in the house alone, he waited at the gate. I wasn't very happy.

Forcibly moved to this location due to a marriage breakdown, I had 2 choices to make, quit Uni and let Ritch go to school everyday or take Ritch with me. Most people would have chosen the first option, I decided on the later. Speaking with his school, I took work sheets with us so he could still continue his school work. He attended all aspects of University life with me. No one protested as he seemed to fit right in.
The first day he wanted to carry my art folder, but it was bigger than him, so he tried to carry my 2 very heavy tool boxes that contained all the art supplies. "Mum, he says there has to be an easier way!". The next morning he darted to our shed and pulled out the market trolley and a hockey strap, throwing them both in the car. This is what he used to pull the around the boxes around between classes. Why didn't I think of that?
During most classes he did all his school assigned work, but in art history, he listened intently to the lecturers. By the end of the year he was a walking encyclopedia, for most of the year he was a great study mate.
As his teacher from school said to me unburdening my heart "Not all education is begotten had school. The best education is from home, the heart and the child's social environment"

Included in the Workday Recovery Kit is cooking dinner when you don't really want to.

I am at my desk concentrating hard on a diabolical task. This particular card game has got me gasumped, the computer is cheating surely, it has to be.
"Whats for dinner mum?" calls out a voice from the other extreme of the house.
Not answering and still concentrating, when the question is called out again but much, much louder. Darn! the kids don't fall for the selective deafness trick anymore!
Sigh.
"Food! and if your lucky, it'll be edible" Not taking my eyes of the screen.
It's 6pm, and the daily family maintenance of providing a suitable meal for hungry mouths seems unavoidable. The trouble is I am not hungry, well not anymore. Half an hour a go, I stumbled through the door after a horrendously busy day of running the business, whilst trying in earnest not to have to speak to a particular person, made a quick 2 slices of toast with Tahini, which was my breakfast, lunch and dinner in one mouthful.
"Cheesy Awesomeness Mum!" calls out young master Ritch and the rest of the troupe agree.
"Nooooooooooooooooooooo, No, No and No some more OK!!". The kids all call out yes, yes and some more yes!!.
The no and yes thing swings back and forth a few more times and I still haven't won a single game in the meantime.
The next office chair I get will definitely not have wheels. I protest loudly, as Ritch grabs the back of my chair and starts driving me into the kitchen backwards.
"No, I don't want to! you can't make me do it, I don't want to........" my crying plea's fall on deaf ears, as Ritch starts piling up the ingredients onto my lap. He turns the oven on, still dragging his protesting mum around in her wheely chair. He opens the fridge throwing more items on the growing mountain on my lap.
"Due to the lack of interest on my behalf, I have cancelled dinner this evening!". They don't fall for that one either
I just have to do it don't I?,
Cooking the 'Cheesy Awesomeness' gets underway with the close monitoring of the 2 youngest members of the family, just in case I decide to escape.
They're lucky this time, it was brilliantly edible.

There are times that I wish that things I don't want to do turn out that way, like some work days. Like today's workday, which had me spinning around faster than a child's spinning top, except without the colours.  I have come to rely on Dom, our 'gopher', wonderfully adept at handling everything, including filtering of incoming phone calls. Though I still sack him nearly every week, he just laughs.

There's a company that headhunted me for a design project over a year ago which got off to a fantastic start. With a team of 4 people from this company, another was added for some reason, having been transferred from another department. The original 4 left the company within 2 weeks, when this new member was added. Unfortunately I inherited her as the project was almost completed. After a few phone conversations with this person, I too throw the towel in and resigned from the project.

She rang again today, as she has done regularly for the last 10 months, and it's never a pleasant outcome.
As Dom whispered who it was, I dove under my desk, shaking my head furiously, grabbing my fortunately large handbag to cover my screams of denial, frustration, anguish, and turmoil. With the most politest of professional voices he calmly tells the person "She won't be taking your phone call today or any other day! promptly hanging up. Phew........
My bag starts to ring..........................
Throwing the bag in his direction, he then throws it to Zjarie, our sales manager, like a hot potato, who can't find anyone else close enough, hurls the bag into the nearby fabric bin. They both back away from the bin, I stay cowering under my desk till it finally stops.
Dom quickly runs down to the production area before I reach him, because he was the one that gave her  my private mobile number. Hoping to punch him in the arm, I call out he's sacked instead as he escapes out of my reach. A couple of minutes later our production manger punches him in the arm, because he had been holding onto an order he forgot to let the team know about. I catch up to him and punch the other arm to even it up and yet again remind him he is sacked.
"Yeah, yeah I know", he goes back to his desk and picks up where he left off, playfully nursing fictitious injuries on both his arms.
2 hours later, after several phone calls from this person that I didn't take, I have just have to do it don't I? I take a very, very deep breath and accept the call from this person, remind her yet again that I have resigned, no amount of increase of financial incentive will sway me either. (It has quadrupled in value)
.
It always goes the same way, she will pipe up and ask "Why did you ring me" I'll answer that she had called me, then she will blurt out quite contritely "Why on earth would I ring you and how did you get this number, whats your name again, why have you got that name, it doesn't make sense, I mean what is it?" she demands
Replying to that with a sigh "You rang me about about the project that I resigned from remember? Please refrain from calling again"
She will start going on about how important she is, she needs me to finish the project as the original team members have now apparently all moved to Siberia and are unlocatable. While making demands of me on the phone in which I have no opportunity to interupt, she constantly orders her staff around in the most bizarre of fashions, like not to move from their desk, or to only cross the left leg over the right leg, never the other way around.
Last week I heard her admonish a staff member with "Why is that book on the left hand side of your desk, I want it on the right hand side of your desk and why are you fiddling with your hair. I don't like you fiddling with your hair while I am talking to you, please move the book now. More to the right, down a bit, a little bit more, that will do, why are you playing with that book?",
Or she will demand a staff member to move a phone cord so it sits in a particular fashion.
I take a deeper breath and remind her yet again that I have indeed resigned and that there is no point in contacting me again. She will inform me not to get off track and how is it relevant to the project.
I quit, that's more than relevant.
Yes she says, "I have heard it all before, now it's very important that I get this email before 9 am". Then she will say that I have taken up enough of her time and that I should in future call her at a more suitable time.
Dom hands me a bottle of water with 3 panadol and a coffee chaser.  With a wink he says "I can assume that I will be booking you a flight to Siberia sometime very soon?".

I have to wonder whose cat did I run over in a previous life.

breastfeeding and going back to work?.

When I had my third child, I initially had plans of staying home as long as possible. Late in the pregnancy, my husband and I split so that plan had to went down the gurgler. When 'Zip' as she is affectionately called was 4 months old, I had to return to work to cover the mortgage and everything else as adults with family have to be responsible for.
Zip was born very prematurely, so I knew that breastfeeding was of the utmost importance for her health, well being and development. I also had a plan to breastfeed till self weaning stepped in. I am a very big fan of breastfeeding, but not to the point of being a Nazi about it.
I spent my lunch times in the ladies toilet cubicle hand expressing with a sandwich and photograph of my baby girl perched on my lap. It was the only discreet place at work. There were only 2 cubicles, and I wanted to put a sign on the other cubicle door saying "Milk extraction in process, please refrain from No 2's for the time being".
Once finished I would place the bottle of life sustaining liquid gold in the staff fridge, always anxious I would forget and go home without it. I never thought it would be emptied by an unsuspecting very young, very tall male employee. I caught him just has he had emptied the contents down the sink. I wanted to kick him in the shins, the only place I could reach, but I called him an ignoramus of mega proportions instead.

With no back up supplies in storage, the debate raged on as to give up breastfeeding all together, now that she was six months old. In most people mind set, it's either one or the other and never the both to meet. My mother, dearly as I loved her, must have forgotten to stand in the diplomacy line, or they had ran out, when the traits were being handed out, was far more cutting, "Give up that stupid idea of breastfeeding, it's not like you're trying to win a medal" Ouch.
It was my father who came up with the ingenious idea of formula feeding through the day and breastfeeding morning and night. That way he said, you would have a proper lunch time and not look so frayed every afternoon. He had a point, I was looking a bit rough around the edges lately.

It was drilled into us at the hospital and at the baby health clinics by the lactation consultants, aka the "Breastfeeding Police" that as soon as you substitute formula for breastfeeding, it normally sparks the demise of breastfeeding in general, along with the breakdown of the baby's health, mental development, success in life, will also lead to the social degeneration of mankind and possibly the destruction of the Earth.
For each new mum, leaving the hospital, was handed the fate of the world right there with her swollen breasts and newborn babe in arms. Hence secret societies, hidden in closets all around the world, of formula feeders. Whispers can be heard of mum's wanting to offload the terrible guilt of "I gave my baby formula the other day".
Yet at the same time they would tell you that the breasts produce milk to fit in with the demand. During growth spurts when the baby suckles more often than normal, it's the cue for the breasts to produce more. So why not the other way.
For the next 18 months that's exactly what I did, breastfed her morning and night, which I enjoyed so much and my parents who lovingly looked after my trio of delight, gave Zip formula during the day. Just after her second birthday, right on Christmas morning, she didn't want 'mummy milk' any more, but a hug, a kiss and presents instead.

It can be done, to combine work and breastfeeding so it doesn't take its toll on the most precious of family commodities; Mum.