Traveling by plane with a breast pump for business was bad

Preparation is the key to surviving the pains of motherhood. It’s also key to ensuring that the complexities of cross-country travel run smoothly.

But all the motherhood books and travel checklists in a traveling mom’s entire arsenal failed to prepare me for the reality of how the Transportation Security Administration, Southwest Airlines, a five-star Las Vegas hotel, and society in general they judge mothers and their needs. .

With equal parts excitement (finally, a little break!), apprehension (is there enough pumped milk for baby to last four days without me? Can daddy survive the demands of baby and 4-year-old alone? Will the house still be standing when I get back?) and guilt (ah, the guilt!), I arrived at Albany International Airport prepared to take my first work trip to Las Vegas since welcoming my toddler in 2017.

Traveling alone is stressful enough, but traveling as a parent can be downright traumatic. There are never enough hours in the day to meet everyone’s needs, let alone your own, so systems and efficiency are requirements of the prepared traveling mom. I packed my colorful carry-on luggage filled to the brim with four days of business casual attire, TSA-approved clear containers with miniature versions of my daily skin care ritual (anything to minimize the bags under my eyes that looked big enough to accommodate my luggage) and my nondescript breast pump slung over my shoulder through the TSA line.

“Ma’am, you’re going to need to step aside. You have been selected for additional screening,” a security officer told me.

My first thought was, “Did he just ‘ma’am’ me?” followed by a sense of ease knowing that motherhood has taught me to expect delays.

I stood aside in front of hundreds of passengers in the TSA security line as an agent approached to search me for contraband. I never felt more dehumanized than when the officer continued to press on my swollen breast (ready to leak at any moment if I didn’t find my breast pump again soon), asking, “What is this? What do you have here?

Having to explain that the hard plastic piece she felt was a component of my nursing bra that allowed me quick access to pump or feed my child was humiliating, especially when she followed up with, “Where’s the baby?”

The wrinkled nose and tense upper lip on the agent’s face when I told her I was traveling alone on a work trip but had my breast pump with me was, unfortunately, the first humiliating slight I felt that day. Where is the book that prepares you to deal with the judgment and questioning of every decision you make as a mother when you need to?

I stepped away from the security line, managed to access my gate, but with an incessant need to justify the fact that I was traveling alone, leaving my baby behind in the capable hands of her other parent. My job required this travel and my baby required my job to meet his needs.

And yet, I didn’t say any of that to the agent. I continued to my gate with plenty of time to pump milk for my son in the airport’s breastfeeding mother’s lounge, as well as relax a bit before the boarding process began. However, the hall did not exist. The Mother-Friendly Airport Improvement Act that I researched before the trip promised that the lounge would be available, but a posted sign said, “Future Lounge Location for Breastfeeding Mothers” and that a bathroom was available to breastfeed or pump in. particular. I’m not sure about you, but I don’t cook my meals in the bathroom. Why would I prepare my child’s meal there?

Feeling discouraged (mentally, not physically, since my breasts were engorged and still full of milk), I perked up when the Southwest Airlines gate agent announced that it was time to line up to board.

“You’ll have to check that out. You can only take one carry-on bag and one personal item,” the agent told me.

With the eyes of the rest of the group A passengers focused on me, I confidently switched from my mobile boarding pass to the Southwest policy I had open on my phone screen. I told the agent that I specifically booked my flight with the airline because of their policy regarding passengers who are breastfeeding or traveling with formula:

“We welcome nursing clients who wish to breastfeed on board or within our facilities. Luggage containing a breast pump and/or breast milk may be carried on board in addition to the standard carry-on baggage allowance of one suitcase plus one small personal item. You may be asked about the nature(s) of additional carry-on bag(s) during travel.”

“Where is the baby?” the agent asked me, the second time I had been asked that day.

I quickly explained that I was traveling alone, but had packed my carry-on luggage and breast pump in accordance with the terms of the airline’s policy. I was greeted with sighs of impatience and more looks of contempt, not only from the gate agent, but also from the dozens of irritated passengers who just wanted to board.

Reluctantly, I left my position in line and slipped to the side to speak to a second agent, who ended up checking my carry-on bag so I could keep my breast pump with me. And here I thought that a baby would have been the most difficult traveling companion.

After seven hours, three time zones, and no patience, my breast pump and I arrived in the impressive lobby of my hotel with a desperate need to pump somewhere other than a bathroom lest it give me mastitis or a painful obstruction. milk duct due to lack of pumping at my usual time. If I reduced the number of times I expressed milk regularly, my milk supply would change and I would not be able to supply my child with the amount needed.

“I’m sorry, but your room isn’t ready yet. Check-in is at 3pm. You can leave your luggage with our bellman and explore the resort until your room is ready,” the front desk employee told me.

It was only 11am, but it was 2pm at home. The thought of waiting another four hours before I could feel some kind of relief and fulfill my duties as a mother almost sent me into a tantrum that could rival any tired toddler’s meltdown.

I pleaded with the associate, referring to the lactation stains that were visible through the layers of my nursing bra and cotton t-shirt, hoping for an act of compassion (or at least pity).

“Do you need to breastfeed your baby? Where is the baby? the associate asked me.

Distraught, I explained for the third time that day that I wasn’t with my baby, but my responsibilities as his mother didn’t stop because we weren’t physically together.

The microcosm of traveling as a working mother with my breast pump solidified the realization that as a society we have been conditioned to expect women to work as if they don’t have children and to mother as if they don’t work. It’s hard enough to navigate motherhood without the disproportionate judgment placed on women who continue to work and breastfeed.

In 2023, the Breastfeeding Bottles and Equipment Screening Improvement Act was introduced in Congress to require the TSA to clarify and regularly update guidance on handling breast milk and baby formula in airports.

Until these regulations are followed consistently and employees are properly trained, treating traveling mothers with dignity and respect rather than judgment will go a long way toward overcoming unnecessary hardships on an already stressful experience.

After four exhausting days of playing the role of dutiful employee, prepared mother (finding time to rest between meetings and work obligations), and mentally preparing myself for the complicated journey home, I arrived at the Las Vegas airport as prepared as I was. I could. it would be facing the judgment and humiliation I had just endured four days earlier. This time I knew I would be asked to step aside for further testing as I now had 16 bags of breast milk that needed to be tested before I could be released to my gate.

I took every precaution to ensure I could safely transport this liquid gold back to my son in accordance with TSA rules and regulations, so you can imagine my shock and horror upon witnessing a TSA agent open it and pour out not one, but two breast bags. milk. Instead of apologizing, the agent looked at me with disgust for the inconvenience I had caused by misusing my milk. Once again, I felt discouraged about the journey I was about to face as tears filled my eyes.

“There’s no point crying over spilled milk,” the agent told me.

Note: HuffPost reached out to Southwest Airlines for comment but did not immediately receive a response.

Jennifer Rowe is a mother of two who lives in upstate New York and works full-time as an executive in the fitness and development industry. As a freelance writer, her focus is on essays and personal narratives that highlight the many facets of the identity a woman assumes within and beyond motherhood. When not working or writing, Jennifer can be found with her nose buried in a book or on the sidelines of the baseball field and dance studio cheering on her children.

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