A letter to my breast pump 

Dear Breast Pump,

Hey, it’s Melissa.

I know I’ve made it pretty clear how much I have despised our time together, and now as it comes to and end I want you to know its not you its….no. It’s you. You’re the worst.


I mean thank you for helping me feed my baby as much breastmilk as possible, but I really don’t like you. I hate you. I HATE you.

I remember using those microwaveable breast pump cleaning bags and melting all of the parts together on accident and thinking “F— you, breast pump.” 


Then, I went to target and spent an insanely large amount of money in replacement parts. Like, all I needed was tubing but the tubes apparently aren’t sold separately and I place the blame directly onto my breast pump for being manufacture by a company who wants to bleed my wallet dry.


I hated using my breaks to pump, and I’m looking forward to going for walks on my breaks and eating outside with my coworkers when I bring my lunch to work.

I’m not sorry for refusing to bring you home on the weekends because looking at you instantly kills my mood. I have never felt so strongly about an inanimate object before, but it’s well deserved. You suck. Literally.


I needed you in the beginning, but I’ve moved on. We are introducing solids now, and the formula we’ve supplemented with actually doesn’t seem to bother the baby at all. 

I’m going to keep breastfeeding when I’m home, but this relationship is over.

PEACE.

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