At 34 years old, 3 a.m. meant two babies laid in front of me on a Twin Z pillow, the sound of suction turning on and off in the background. Sleepless, but so in love, I pushed through exhaustion feeling deeply alone.
I felt the stress of not making enough. The guilt of choosing to care for my babies by fighting my body to produce milk. The distance that grew between us as my Spectra pump tied me to the wall.
For months, I fought myself. I absorbed advice I didn’t ask for. I sat alone at night, pumping and praying. I spent my days exhausted until I realized I couldn’t possibly be the only one awake at 3 a.m. There had to be other women there too.
My hope with The Milk Hours is to sit with you in the silence during the late nights and the long days. To soften the fear when the baby blender is staring you down and everything feels heavier than it should.
If your arms are empty, and the quiet won’t let your heart settle, I want to sit with you in the ways I wish someone had sat with me.
It truly takes a village, and sometimes distance and the structure of our lives keep us from finding that safety net. Here, those gaps are bridged.
For however long you need, you are not alone in The Milk Hours.
The Milk Hours 