Terrorist Breast Milk

Last Thursday was my first business trip since being back from maternity leave. It was a one day trip to London. Since I am still breastfeeding Sasha, I took along my hand pump. I slipped it in alongside my laptop in my computer case, feeling vaguely strange about the juxtaposition of baby bottle, pump and laptop but not thinking too much more about it. 

Everything went well. We did the meetings, the participants seemed satisfied, I was professional Mary again and I was enjoying it.

After the meetings, we went to my firm's offices outside London. Immediately upon arrival, I slipped away to a cramped bathroom stall on the second floor to silently pump out milk. It wasn't fun, but it was necessary. For the uninitiated, I should explain that when you are breastfeeding and not feeding your baby, you need to use a mechanical or electrical device to pump out the milk. This is so that a) your breasts don't feel like they are going to fall off from being swollen with milk and b) to keep your supply of milk up. So, I pumped.

I wrapped the resulting bottle of breast milk up in some paper towel for discretion's sake and trundled it over to the fridge in the office kitchenette, where it stayed all afternoon. When it was time to leave, I ran and got it and shoved it in my laptop bag. I hadn't brought any other luggage since it was not an overnight trip. 

I was dropped off at Heathrow Airport a little late and so had to rush a bit to make my flight. I asked a group of three men, in their forties I would say, if they would mind if I cut in front of them in the security line to make my flight. We got to talking and, as they let me in, it turned out that they were on the same flight as me. We chuckled and, distracted as I was by the conversation, I wasn't paying much attention to security.

All of a sudden, it was my turn to put my bag on the belt. And then it dawned on me. I was going to have to explain the 200 ml of breast milk in my bag to the security guys, since it was over the 100 ml limit for liquids. There was a slim hope that they wouldn't notice the bottle, so I assumed my most insouciant air and sashayed through the checkpoint, hoping. 

Predictably, the monitor guy noticed the bottle and I got called over to explain it. I told the security guy that it was breast milk. He looked at me doubtfully and went to speak to his superior. I saw his superior begin to nod no. It looked like he was going to make trouble. I girded my loins, prepared to do battle. There was No. Way. that I was allowing that hard-earned milk to be confiscated. I yelled as much to the security guy, who couldn't hear me. That made his superior come over. He told me that breast milk was fine to bring across, as long as the baby was with me. I assumed my most charming voice and said that if the baby were with me, then the milk would be inside him, not the bottle.  He said that in that case, I would have to pour out the milk. 

I was aghast. Then I realised that I had an extra bottle with me. So, I proposed that I should divide the milk into two bottles, each of 100 ml, to fit under the legal limit. It was ridiculous but it was a solution.

By this time, there was quite a queue of passengers, foremost among them the guys who had allowed me to cut in line. They had bemused expressions on their faces and were focusing on a point somewhere just above my forehead as they waited. They were embarrassed. I didn't care.

Then, the security guy surprised me and said, "You know, if you take a sip, then I can let you keep the milk." I looked at him, wondering if this was a trick. I think he thought it was something I would not be prepared to do. He obviously didn't know breast feeding mothers.

So, right there at the Heathrow security checkpoint, I unscrewed the cap from the bottle and took a minute sip of milk. The guys behind me looked like they wished the floor would open up beneath them. I was beginning to enjoy myself.

I put the cap back on, smirked at the security guy and sailed away, breast milk in hand. Phew.

I saw the guys again when we boarded the flight to Barcelona. They assiduously avoided my gaze. I was unperturbed. I had won - this time. I wonder what will happen next time?