The Case of the Mystery Pumper

For the almost-year that I've been at my current job, I've noticed that there is a woman who sits in the curtained-off area adjacent to the bathroom stalls in the ladies' bathroom to pump (breast milk, that is). The first time I encountered this, I had gone to the bathroom, subconsciously hearing a rhythmic, mechanical zhwoo-zhwoo! sound in the distance. Being that I was not a mother, had no intentions of being a mother anytime soon (laugh), and really haven't been around women with breast pumps before, I didn't quite 'get it'. I kept leaning into the wall where the towel dispenser hung, thinking the noise was emanating from there. Realizing instead that the noise was coming from behind me, I turned around and started moving toward the curtained-off area. Was there some electrical problem or other mechanical issue that the maintenance staff was not aware of? Just as I was about to pull the curtain back to explore, common sense kicked in (thank all that is good in the world for that!). Pumping! Oh yeah! Ri-i-i-ight! I sheepishly turned back around and walked my ignorant self right out of the bathroom.

Since then, and particulary in the months since I've been pregnant, my mission has been to discover who the Mystery Pumper is. Part of me thought it would be interesting to see what a scientist who pumps looks like; another part of me thought I might try to engage her in discussion about the trials and tribulations of pumping while on the job. I guess really I was just nosy. And annoyed! Every single time the Mystery Pumper was in that back room, she was already in the midst of the process, and no matter how long I took in the bathroom stall, I couldn't seem to wait her out. Even more maddening was being in the stall, hearing the bathroom door open, and seeing the feet of the Mystery Pumper walk past my stall to the curtained area, hearing her pull that curtain closed with a snap. So close, yet so far away! Oh, Mystery Pumper, why have the fates kept us apart??? WHY????????

Until today. Today, I walked into the ladies' room--more like half-ran, half-limped, my belly was stretched so tight with a full bladder and a full uterus--and passed by a friendly-looking woman headed away from the sink with equipment in her hands. We smiled, but I barely had time to notice that she had walked into the adjacent area before I threw myself on the toilet. I realized in that instant that I had just glimpsed--actually, I had smiled at--the Mystery Pumper! While I was already stationed comfortably in proper eradication position, I momentarily hesitated. What if I were to run out of the stall and talk to her? Surely my belly is (kinda) large enough now that she might understand why I would harass her after a pumping session? In that freakish moment, I had a scene carved in my head of her looking fondly and understanding at my belly, putting her hand on my arm, and suggesting we meet for lunch sometime soon to talk pumps. I literally almost had my pants back up, ready to run out of the stall and accost this poor lady when, yet again, my good ole friend Common Sense took hold. At that moment, I heard her leave the bathroom, so it was a lost cause anyway.

So I have a bitter-sweet sense of pleasure, in that I've finally cracked the case of the Mystery Pumper, but I still don't know who she is, or anything about her, or how she finds pumping in the ladies' room of our building. I have always particularly wondered how disconcerting it must be to have to pump when the smells coming from the stalls are not exactly pleasant (I try to do a courtesy flush for her if I am the culprit responsible for the odoriferousness). Mostly, all of this has nothing to do with her, and everything to do with how overwhelmed I feel to have to master yet another skill, just so my kid will be able to eat when I'm away from it. I know, I know, millions of women before me have figured it out; I'm sure I will, too. But for now, there is still some small comfort in remaining a little scared.