2,740 ounces. Eight babies. Six moms. Nine months of pumping. The feeling of giving something so simple yet so powerful priceless.
When I had my first daughter, Emery, I planned on nursing her for at least a year. From the outset, though, every single latch hurt. The nurses would tell me it looked fine, but it was unbearable. So I did what any determined breastfeeding mother would do: I pushed through, convinced that if I just tried harder, it would get better. It didn’t. Two weeks later, my breasts were painfully engorged, my baby was crying from hunger, and I finally gave in and made her a bottle of formula.
I cried as I mixed that first bottle, feeling defeated and guilty. In time, I learned to let go. Emery would go on to thrive, and I reminded myself I’d given her two beautiful weeks of nourishment anyway. She was healthy, happy, and loved-that was what mattered most.
When I got pregnant again, I was ready to try breastfeeding differently. I promised myself I’d ask for help and not quit until I truly understood what my baby and I needed. But our sweet boy, Max, was stillborn at 23 weeks; his umbilical cord had narrowed, cutting off blood flow and nutrients. It broke me when we lost him. And when my milk came in days later, it felt like salt in an open wound. I stood in a hot shower, crying and hand-expressing milk, wishing more than anything that my baby was there to need it.
I didn’t know about milk donation then; if I had, I would have poured all that love into helping another baby in Max’s honor. Since losing him, I’ve created care packages for grieving mothers and done random acts of kindness in his name, but donating milk would have been such a healing way to honor him.
The minute I conceived of our rainbow baby, Olivia, fear consumed me. Every day of that pregnancy was spent in anxiety, haunted by what we’d lost. When she finally arrived, healthy and strong, the relief was overwhelming: I was grateful, terrified, and exhausted all at once.
This time, I came prepared. I’d talked with a lactation consultant before she was born, and was ready with my pump. Olivia latched right away, and despite battling mastitis early on-if you’ve had it, you know-ouch!-we made it through together. Today, we’re still going strong at 18 months.
I pumped early to start a freezer stash once I went back to work. The only problem? Olivia wanted nothing to do with the bottle. She’d play, cry, and finally fall asleep after taking less than an ounce. Thankfully, my employer was understanding, allowing me to take breaks in shifts to nurse her. Since I didn’t have to pump for her anymore, I suddenly had extra milk and that’s when I remembered hearing about milk donation.
After reaching out to a friend who had donated before, I joined a Facebook group called Human Milk 4 Human Babies. Through it, I connected with moms in need: some adopting, others struggling with a low supply. Soon, my freezer stash started finding its way into the waiting arms of families who needed it.
It wasn’t always easy. Pumping while wrangling two kids was chaos, and washing endless bottles and pump parts felt never-ending. But every time I thought about quitting, I pictured those babies-tiny, hungry, waiting-and I kept going.
For me, milk donation became something deeper than generosity. It was healing. Years ago, as a young girl struggling with an eating disorder, I couldn’t even nourish myself. I spent years in hospitals learning to love and feed my body again. Now, 15 years later, I’m able to feed my baby and others’. That’s a miracle I’ll never take for granted.
I often think about that scared 13-year-old girl who didn’t think she’d ever get better. I wish she could see me now loving my children, nursing, laughing, living. She’d be proud of the woman I’ve become.
Donating milk isn’t just about the milk; it’s about love and resilience and connection. Motherhood is hard enough, and we all carry guilt and judgment for every choice we make. So if I can make one mom’s day a little easier, one baby’s belly a little fuller, it’s worth every pump session and every 3 a.m. wash cycle.
I have donated to moms who drive hours just for milk, to adoptive parents who dream of giving their babies breast milk. Each time, I feel humbled and grateful that I can help. To every mom out there-whether you breastfeed, formula feed, pump, or combo feed-you’re doing an amazing job. Feed that baby, love that baby, and give yourself some grace. We’re all just doing the very best we can on this wild, beautiful journey of motherhood.
