By Sarah Millar
Photographs by Logan Castor Parson
“I’ve got five bucks on Lauren” I said.
“Come on Taylor!” I heard from behind me.
There I was, 12:30 AM around a bonfire, watching my friends hand pump the liquid gold from their breasts. This was not your average bachelorette party.
Remember when the bride-to-be was escorted from bar to bar by a pack of girlfriends? Maybe she was wearing a tiara, a veil or pageant sash? Perhaps drinking out of a pecker straw and sucking on a DicTac? Okay, maybe I only went to one or two of those kinds of parties, but last weekend I went to a friends bachelorette party that was a bit different than the parties we went to in our twenties.
My friend, the bride-to-be, opted to forego the bars and head into the mountains. Instead of pecker straws and the phallic accessories that normally accompany bachelorette parties, there were fancy appetizers, decadent meals, copious amounts of alcohol….and yes, breast pumps!
Miraculously, thirteen ladies all snuck away for a weekend and met on a friends family ranch to celebrate our bride-to-be. This ranch is a magical place. A place where you feel like you’ve really gotten away, where you can relax in earnest. A place where you can have a few drinks and not worry about how you are going to get home, or how you are possibly going to get up with the kids in the morning. You feel welcome before you even get out of your car.
You see, ten years ago, it would have been an easy accomplishment to get a group of girlfriends to go away for a night. But the truth of the matter is, ten of us are now moms.
Half of the moms at this gathering were breastfeeding. It is no small feat, to get this many (breast feeding) moms away for a night, leaving our husbands in charge of feeding our babies in the middle of the night, some for the first time. Or to leave our husbands with multiple children for the night, some for the first time. Or maybe with grandma. Or Aunties and Uncles. One family even stayed in a yurt up the road, so mom could nurse her young baby that night. Two friends had flown in the night before from a business trip to New York City, another drove down from Glacier National Park where she was working. Somehow or another, we all made it happen to be there to celebrate our bride-to-be.
(Photo of Central Park taken day before)
With white-capped mountains as our backdrop and our beds assigned, we began the celebration. Luscious cocktails, cosmopolitans to be exact, were poured into fancy margarita glasses rimmed with raw sugar, so sweet and delicious. As you can imagine, the drinks went down fast, easily, and early! Through appetizers and more cocktails, we discussed the meaning of marriage and listened intently as our hostess talked about her 37 year long marriage. As I listened to her advice, her thoughts, her ups and downs, I tried to imagine what my own marriage will be like in 30 years.
(our luscious Cosmopolitans)
After all the guests had arrived we sat down at an elegantly set dinner table with a blooming center piece. It reminded me of meals at my families farm in Pennsylvania where my husband grew up. A home with a kitchen table that can easily seat a dozen people, an open kitchen with well thought out islands and bars, pots hanging from ceiling racks, an eight burner stove and multiple refrigerators. It was no strip club, but it was heaven to me.
(the beautifully set dinner table)
After a gourmet dinner, toasts were made and champagne was sipped. We moved outside to the deck to watch the alpenglow move higher up the mountains. With a green pasture and a evening of celebration before us, I felt like I had found the gold at the end of a rainbow.
(the view)
As the night waned it became apparent that our breast feeding mamas were going to miss several nursings. To relieve looming engorgement, the first round of pumping began. As we all got comfortable in our adirondack chairs, drinks were poured and the bonfire ignited. The sound of electric pumps began as motors worked to imitate the suckling of babes. There was collective laughter at how great women are at multi-tasking. Pumping with one hand, a drink in the other. We analyzed the pros and cons of electric versus hand pumping, some choices are conscious and others the good luck of a hand-me-down. Everyone gauged their own levels of milk toxicity, as we talked about the prospect of pumping and dumping, internally planning which bottles were safe for consumption, and when to have another drink before the next let down.
(sunset in the Mission Mountains)
While shaking my booty around the bonfire, I caught a glimpse of two mamas hand pumping in their camp chairs: “boots with the fur…the whole club looking at her…she hit the floor…next thing you know, she got low, low, low, low, low, low“. Both were hunched over, pumping rhythmically as the woods throbbed to club music, milk slowly filling up the bottle. As we realized both the authenticity and the irony of the situation, we began cheering wildly. Both women pumped, grins from ear to ear, sort of laughing, but sort of trying to win. We were laughing hysterically, clapping, hooting, hollering, and folding over ourselves in joy. Soon enough, the breast milk was being poured over the fire like a gilded sacrifice.
I reflected through dark sunglasses and strong coffee the following morning that it was the beginning of a new journey that had brought us together, and that this small flake of gold could carry us.
Sarah Millar is a photographer, naturalist and occasional writer who loves digging for worms in the garden with her two little girls. When Sarah is not found zipping around the woods on her bike or skis, you can find her working with Team Mamalode.
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LMAO! A great way to get in a full belly laugh on this rainy morning! Well done!
from your woes at your mid-town office just a few days ago, I’d say you nailed it with this one. Well done, Sarah, a tribute to mamahood. Sounds like a wonderful night and a cathartic liquid gold sacrifice to the fire gods. well done!
Love it! What a great story. Thank you for a wonderful mountain tale. And Congratulations to the bride-to-be!
Well done sister! A weekend to remember for sure.
Sarah, I love it. I can picture it perfectly. Thanks for sharing this hilarious story that still has depth.