My Baby Rolled Off The Bed While I Was Pumping Milk

There are some mum moments you laugh about later.

The middle-of-the-night poonamis, unpredictable diaper explosions, viral-worthy projectile vomits. The constant googling of “Is baby getting enough milk?”, “Why does the baby keep waking up?”, “Does my baby have colic?” when you should really be catching some sleep. The time you broke down after spilling precious liquid gold (aka hard-earned breast milk).

And then there are the moments you solemnly replay in your head years later.

For me, one of those moments happened when my son was about eight months old.

Back then, I was deep in my pumping era. Not “oh, I’ll just pump when I can” pumping. I mean fully committed, schedule-driven, result-oriented pumping. (I recorded every pump session’s yield in a notebook, noting how my left boob was always more productive than the right.)

I was back at work full-time, which meant I lived on a clockwork schedule of pumping breast milk while trying to be the committed just-had-a-baby-and-now-I’m-back-at-work employee I thought I was.

Wake up, pump, go to work. Lunchtime, pump. Before heading home, pump again.

It wouldn’t be a stretch to say one of my KPIs was producing two litres of breast milk a day.

That’s the thing about pumping milk: the results are clear and measurable. Very objective. Very validating. It formed a huge part of my mum identity then. I was also addicted to the feeling of empty, soft boobs — though obviously, that never lasted long.

Every pump session was a routine, but it also felt like a mission.

Anyone who has breastfed would know the morning pump after a night’s sleep usually gives you the best yield. That’s when every drop feels like proof that your body is doing what it’s supposed to do.

And when you’re a tired mum trying to do everything right, that proof can feel very, very important.

It becomes a visible way of saying: “Look, I’m trying. Look, I’m giving my baby the best. Look, I’m a good mother.”

Every bottle of freshly pumped milk is an achievement. Every drop feels like a biological marvel. Every pump session becomes a test of discipline and endurance.

At that time, I was co-sleeping with my son. So every morning, when I woke up to pump, I would pray that he wouldn’t wake up too.

Because if he did, I wouldn’t be right beside him.

Of course, there had been mornings when he woke up while I was pumping. Nothing untoward ever happened, so I took that for granted.

Until the day he fell off the bed.

***

At eight months old, he was curious, mobile enough to be dangerous, and very pleased with himself. He sat up, looked around, and smiled at me.

I remember sitting there, hooked up to my machine, tubes attached, milk already flowing, while maintaining intense eye contact with him.

In my head, I was sending him very clear telepathic instructions.

Don’t move. Stay right where you are.

Of course, he did not receive the memo.

He started inching closer and closer to the edge of the bed.

And I froze.

I knew I should have stopped the pump, stood up, and gone to him — as though I wasn’t half-naked with rock-hard boobs and milk oozing out of my nipples.

But I was in the thick of pumping. My milk was flowing so seamlessly. I was looking forward to the release. Let’s call it the milk-pumping high.

Some part of me thought, I can’t stop now. Just 10 more minutes.

Before I knew it, my dear boy rolled backwards, off the bed.

He was smiling at me as he did it.

I will never forget the sickening thud as he landed unceremoniously on the floor.

Before I even managed to respond, my mother-in-law burst into the room. She picked up my distraught baby and left.

Meanwhile, I was still trying to process what had just happened.

Looking back now, I wonder what she must have thought. Maybe she understood why I was doing it. Maybe she knew I was trying to be a “good mum”. Or maybe she thought I was plain crazy.

And I don’t blame her if she did.

Because when I think about it now, I realise I got my priorities all wrong.

I just couldn’t see it then.

At that moment, I was so fixated on getting the milk out that I didn’t respond to the baby right in front of me.

And that is a very hard thing to admit.

In this episode of Too Tired Mums, mum-of-three Angeline Lim and I talk about the pressure we put on ourselves to breastfeed.

She asked: “Does the milk actually make our children feel more loved?”

The truth is, most of our children won’t remember whether they were breastfed, bottle-fed or mixed-fed.

They don’t know how many times we woke up in the middle of the night to pump while everyone else slept.

They won’t know about the clogged ducts, sore nipples, achy back, endless washing and sterilising of pump parts, the panic when supply dipped, or the mental maths of how many millilitres were sitting in the fridge.

But we know. And we remember.

Because those early years can feel like one long performance review we give ourselves.

Was I patient enough? Did I feed them enough? Did I hold them enough? Did I try hard enough?

Was I enough?

That’s why I don’t think my pumping obsession was ever just about the milk.

It was about control, fear, and wanting to do motherhood “right”, even though nobody really knows what that means.

And yes, it was also about love.

But sometimes love gets tangled up with pressure. And when that happens, we can end up pushing ourselves past the point of reason.

Seven years later, my son is fine. He does not remember this incident. As far as I can tell, he has no physical or emotional scar from it.

I, on the other hand, still think about it.

Every now and then, when I see a mum beating herself up over breastfeeding, pumping, or not doing “enough”, I remember that morning.

I remember my baby inching towards the edge. I remember the whirring sound of my breast pump. I remember choosing not to stop.

And I wish I could go back and tell that version of myself: Stop the pump. Pick up the baby. The milk and mess can wait.

Our children don’t need us to suffer quite so much to prove that we love them.

Maybe they just need us.

And we need to believe that is enough.

Watch the Too Tired Mums episode here.

Too Tired Mums is The Singapore Women’s Weekly’s original talk show series that gives motherhood its most honest voice — where real mums open up about the things we don’t always say out loud, reminding us that we’re never truly alone.

Host: Estelle Low
Guest: Angeline Lim
Producer: Maya Eman
Art director: Michelle Lee
Videography, studio setup and editing: Studio+65
Makeup: Dorcas Yam, using Dior
Hairstyling: Pattama Phumriew, using Schwarzkopf Osis+
Fashion styling: Angela Chu
Outfits: On Estelle, stylist’s own. On Angeline, top from Etro, dress is her own.