Sunday, July 18, 2010
JFK Airport Bathroom Floor.
Because I am a nursing, pumping, whatever mother, I was able to partake in the experience of taking my breast pump to NYC and inconveniently find opportunities to pump 3-4 times a day. It wasn't too bad for the most part. Sky Harbor offered a family restroom that locked and even had a bench. Pumping on the trip wasn't bad either. I was always able to do it at least 3 times a day and, temporarily speaking, that's not too bad for being on vacation. While waiting for our flight home from JFK airport, Brianne and I were at a smaller part of the airport so I asked where the family bathroom was. The worker pointed me toward a handicapped restroom to which I went in, locked the door, and proceeded to take out toilet seat liners and drape them on the bathroom floor to ensure that this princess had a throne to sit on. I was nervous about pumping in a handicapped bathroom because, physically speaking, I'm not handicapped. Five minutes go by and a woman knocks on the door. "SORRY, I'M IN HERE!" I yell. Two minutes go by and I hear the woman talking outside the door. "SORRY IT'S JUST GOING TO BE A FEW MINUTES!" Five more minutes go by. *KNOCK KNOCK,* "I JUST NEED FIVE. MORE. MINUTES." "Yeah you said that five minutes ago," she informed me as if I had no clue. I hear her talking to someone else: "She said five more minutes but that was TEN minutes ago." I could only think, "Yeah. I wish it was ten minutes ago because THEN I'D BE DONE!" Two more minutes pass. I keep hearing her talk only it was muffled. Feeling pressured, tense, and vulnerable as I'm holding my hands to my boobs sitting on the bathroom floor, I yell out in complete desperation, "IM PUMPING BREASTMILK!" Not another word, not another knock, not a single sound as three minutes later I pull open the door and rush out, not looking around to see who it was waiting for me. Now, I would put serious money on them NOT being handicapped as the only people I saw out of the corner of my eye were standing behind the door (possibly in guilt-ridden fear) as I opened it to leave. Hence, I never saw who it was. But, I could be wrong, and because I knew I wasn't handicapped, cut my pumping session 10 minutes short for fear of possibly being assaulted by a wheelchair or being walked in on by airport security (and an angry handicapped person). Now, I am all for pumping or breastfeeding in public and probably could have pumped problem free sitting in our empty terminal. It's practical and efficient. I didn't want to, I don't like to and I chose not too, especially when opened to the possibility of a private restroom in a minorly busy part of the airport. That, and I have a real awkwardness with discreetly utilizing the pumping/breastfeeding "smock." I'm sure constant nip-slips would ensue. But that's just my handicap.