I hate the middle-of-the-night pump session. But after months of doing this, I know too well the consequences of skipping them.
After untangling tubes and fastening the the parts to my chest, I turn the knob to activate the rhythmic sucking that will extract milk from my breasts. Closing my eyes, I lean back and allow my mind to drift into a semi-awake state. Some times I have enough energy to scroll through emails or read headlines coming in from the major media sources. But most of these early mornings are spent drifting, allowing my subconscious to take over.
A recent song has been occupying this drifting for the past couple of weeks. Though there is zero connection to the meaning behind lyrics and my life at the moment, the tune has haunted this drifting. Particularly the refrain:
There'll be no rest for the wicked.
There's no song for the choir.
There's no hope for the weary.
If you let them win without a fight...
The tunes stays with me as I drift in and out of sleep, with the sucking sound of the pump keeping rhythm. It follows as I finish the dreams still fresh in my head, or reflect on the upcoming day.
I'm tired. Exhausted actually. There are moments I crave a break from it all. To simply shut off my brain and excuse myself from the worry of all ahead. The worry of work. The worry of contentious neighbors. The worry of finances and building a secure future for my family. The worry of surviving in an era of so much uncertainty.
There is no rest for the wicked. And there is no clear road ahead. But the end is in sight for the madness that is the middle-of-the-night pump session. Just need to hold on a little bit longer.