Gospel & Grit

“Why is this your business again?”

Smalls will be 5 months old tomorrow—and I NEED to address something that’s been making my eye twitch for the better part of the last 2–3 months.

First, you need to know that Smalls… is NOT a small baby. Little man was rocking 8 lbs 14 oz at birth and has had zero chill ever since. At his 4-month checkup, he was the happiest, healthiest, 18-pound bundle of joy we could’ve hoped for.

And here’s the thing that’s seriously making me question my own sanity lately:

Why the actual F are people asking me if I’m going to be done breastfeeding “soon”?

Let’s just say—for the sake of argument—that this is somehow a decision that belongs to absolutely anyone other than me. (Okay fine, Hubs can have an opinion too… I suppose… but not the final say, LOL.)

Now let’s add in my most over-the-top Southern “bless your heart” kind of smile, and pretend for a hot second that this question is anyone else’s business. Cool. Then here’s the deal, Jack:

My son is 5 months old.
He still can’t completely sit upright. He rolls over occasionally but often gets stuck on arms he hasn’t quite figured out how to control. This question makes it sound like he’s headed off to grad school next week and I’m keeping him from dating.
He’s. A. BABY.

But moving on!

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The Nursing Cover and Its Cruel Lies…

I think one of the most hysterical pranks ever played on a nursing mom is the invention of the nursing cover.

Y’all—FOR REAL. They’re so pretty, aren’t they? All soft and flowy, draped over your precious baby to protect innocent bystanders from being exposed to the most offensive part of a woman’s body—her breasts.

And listen, I get it. Hubs asked me to use one, and while I think it’s a complete joke to hide my kid under a tablecloth just so he can eat his lunch in peace, I didn’t care enough to argue about it at the time. I think for him, it’s more about other people seeing something than it is about modesty. Either way, it wasn’t worth the energy… back then.

Because back then? It was January. It was cold. Blocking wind made sense.

It is no longer January, my friends.

That precious tiny human is now a beast of a boy with the worst case of FOMO I’ve ever seen. It’s HOT. Like Arkansas-summer-hot. That’s 90+ degrees and roughly 200% humidity, give or take. And remember how I said we basically live at the softball field?

This poor child.

And honestly… this poor mama. Because holy hell.

Between the heat and the flailing limbs every time someone claps too loud or Dad cheers for a player, the struggle is so real. I’ve got bruises—actual yellow-black-purple bruises—from him grabbing my boob like it’s a last-chance life raft, then whipping his head around, nipple still fully locked in.

Oh—and let’s not forget he’s under the nursing cover the whole time. So he can’t see the glorious chaos he’s trying to join. Obviously, this is the perfect time for a cool new arched-back, ninja-spin move to escape the blanket of oppression.

At this point, I dare someone to comment if some side boob shows up. I’m just trying to make sure we can both breathe by the end of this.

So don’t beat yourself up if you haven’t mastered the art of “cute and covered.” It’s not real. The models in those pictures are not holding real babies. There’s just no freaking way.

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Pump & Circumstance

The worst part of being at work with a new baby?

Absolutely everything.

But let’s talk about the uniquely chaotic hellscape that is pumping at work. I’ll start:

Ran out of milk bags. Forgot to pack a bottle. Borrowed a travel mug from the office kitchen to hold the milk until I could run home at lunch.
But wait—it gets better! Went home, laughed about the silly mistake, and the very next day walked out the door again without any bags or bottles.

This time, I did find a bottle in the bottom of my backpack! It had the body, the seal… and no nipple. Awesome. I covered it with plastic wrap and a hair tie and hoped for the best. 🙃

Also: I use a hands-free pump, which apparently gives everyone in my office a free pass to waltz in and start chatting like we’re not all in the middle of a weirdly intimate Dairy Queen commercial. The little motor’s whining away under my shirt, milk is flowing, and people are asking me about training binders.

And the best part? Several of these same people have made it very clear how uncomfortable breastfeeding makes them. Buddy… look around. I’m literally doing that right now while you ask if I have extra pens.

Now, that said—I do have to give a shoutout to my ride-or-die pump. The MomCozy has been an actual lifesaver. Whether I’ve got Smalls with me or not, I don’t think we could’ve survived this combo of his appetite, our schedule, and my job without it. No joke.

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So the next time someone asks if I’m “about done nursing,” I might just hand them a bottle and tell them to take it up with Smalls. Hope they’ve got fast reflexes—he’s teething and not afraid to assert himself. 😅

But seriously… whether you’re nursing, pumping, formula feeding, or just trying to survive another mealtime meltdown—this work is sacred.
It’s not always graceful, and it’s almost never quiet, but it matters.

So hold your head high. Cover or no cover. Bruises and all.

You’re doing holy work in the middle of the chaos—and you’re doing it like a champ.

And if you’re in the market for a pump that actually works with your crazy life instead of against it, here’s my ride-or-die: MomCozy Pump.
As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases—but seriously, this pump saved my sanity.