Banner

Mindfulness Practices to Support Milk Production

Woman reaching to comfort friend during support group meeting

Text + image

<h2 style="white-space:pre-line">Empowering Your Relactation Journey</h2>The Letdown Lounge is dedicated to supporting women across the United States in their relactation journeys. Our mission is to provide compassionate guidance and resources to mothers seeking to re-establish breastfeeding. We understand the unique challenges faced during this process and are here to create a nurturing community where women feel empowered and informed. At The Letdown Lounge, your journey is our priority, and we're committed to helping you achieve your breastfeeding goals with confidence.

Counseling Session with Female Therapist Holding Hands

Recent blog posts

<h3>Now We’re All Up to Date… and Flowing Differently</h3> So now the kids are older. I’m not waking up to middle-of-the-night feedings anymore, and I’ve stopped donating to the NICU—for a while at least. Life kind of swept me away. I’ve been running around in regular-mom-mode: school drop-offs, sports practices, work, dinner, dishes, repeat. You know, the rhythm we all fall into without even realizing it.But lately… I’ve been flowing differently.In my early fifties, I’m stepping back into something that I thought might’ve been behind me—being a mommy all over again. Not in the traditional sense, but in the way my body, my heart, and my spirit have always known how to nurture.I’m working now at the hospital in the pediatrics department. I’m surrounded by babies, their soft cries, their tiny fingers wrapped around adult thumbs, and their endless potential. And every time I hear a baby cry? Something in me stirs. My body still reacts. My breasts still tingle. Sometimes, they tense. And, yes—sometimes I even drip a little.It’s like my body remembers.And so I decided—why not try again?Why not see if I can relactate and donate once more? Why not use this gift again, not just for me, but for babies who need it most?I’ll be honest—it’s not as easy as it was before. I don’t produce as much. My body’s slower, softer, and more stubborn. But my will is strong. My why is even stronger.So here I am… Back on the protocol. I’ve started the medications, the supplements, the power pumping. I’ve been researching like crazy—reading blogs, joining lactation groups, and finding others who are walking this same road. I’m following moms, adoptive parents, grandmas, and women in ABF/ANR relationships who are all choosing to induce their way.Because that’s the thing—there’s no one way to do this. There’s only your way.

New Post

Growing Up, Slowing DownNow the babies are older—no longer babies, really—with full little lives of their own. We’ve entered a new phase: school mornings, backpacks, sports, dance classes, and gymnastics routines. Baby girl doesn’t nurse anymore, but she’s still very much a mama’s girl. Always up under me, always watching how I move and trying to do what I do. She’s my shadow. But let’s be clear—she doesn’t play about her daddy. She thinks she’s his boss and isn’t shy about letting us know it.Baby boy, on the other hand, still sneaks in his nursing sessions from time to time, mostly at night before bed. It’s his comfort. It’s our ritual. But I can feel even that beginning to fade. As the days stretch into evenings filled with homework and activities, I started pumping more again—donating what I could. Hubby and I still have our moments of closeness, but even those have changed with time. The production just isn’t what it used to be.We’re past the baby stage now, and I love where we are. But I also know it’s time to start focusing on other things. I still want to support NICU babies. I want to keep pumping and donating once baby boy is fully weaned. That’s the goal now.Lately, though, I’ve noticed my supply is slowing. There were a few days where I barely got two ounces total all day. So I’m planning to bring in the cookies and teas again—see if they help. I would love to be able to donate at least a brick every time I drop off milk.(For those who don’t know, a "brick" is a gallon-sized ziplock bag full of pre-filled breast milk storage pouches. It’s a beautiful sight to behold.)I’m a stay-at-home mom who works from home, and I truly love the feeling of being able to give other babies the healthiest start possible. Some of the moms I’ve met have even offered to buy milk from me, but I just can’t charge them. Not yet. I give when I can. Most of their babies are already used to my milk, so they use supplementers with it until their own supply comes in.I’m constantly in awe of what we as women can do with our bodies. The way we love. The way we nurture. The way we show up—over and over again.Even as things shift, this journey continues. It just looks a little different now.

This Is My Flow - Continued

<h3>This Is My Flow: Continued</h3><h3>The Full Freezer and the Breaking Point</h3><h3>This Is My Flow: Continued</h3>Now my freezer is full. I donate to the NICU every few months because I don’t want the milk to go bad. It’s wild to think that just one ounce of breastmilk can feed four babies—and I’ve got an entire freezer packed. Sometimes I’ll go drop off milk, hear one of those babies cry, and immediately start leaking. I have to rush home to feed baby boy because I don’t want to waste a single drop.I know the time is coming when they’ll be done nursing, but I try to enjoy every bit of it while it lasts. When baby girl has a rough day, she still wants to nurse. It’s her security, and she still loves it. But they push each other off of me now—it can be a lot to handle. They’re home with me all the time, and they both want to be attached to me constantly.Then it happened—I got sick with COVID. My babies had to go stay with my daughter, and they had to take bottles. I was so proud of myself for having a backup supply. But I also heartbroken. I was used to baby boy being on me constantly. I thought he was spoiled to me, and in a way, I was spoiled to him too. Not being able to feed him hit me hard. Not being able to be with any of them hurt. Not to mention, I was sooooo lonely.I wa s too sick to pump... and that’s when it started: It had been weeks of no skin-on-skin, no direct latching, and my milk began to decrease.At one point, it all became overwhelming. I was fifty, with babies in the house, juggling bottles, diapers, nap schedules, and feedings. I was nursing both of them. She had discovered solid foods and started getting fuller more often. But he—he nursed all the time. He became my little velcro baby, always wanting to be close.When we finalized his adoption, I shared everything with the judge. I explained that I had been nursing him exclusively since birth—and her for most of her life. It was an emotional moment. I wasn’t expecting what he said next. With tears in his eyes, the judge told us, "These are your God-given babies. And God gave them the best mom—one who’s gone above and beyond to ensure they have the best upbringing." I could barely hold back the tears. I was overwhelmed, grateful, and affirmed.My baby boy loves to nurse, and my husband—God bless him—started helping me relieve more often. At night, after the baby falls asleep, I pump to ease the overflow. It still hurts sometimes, but we’ve found a rhythm. Baby girl doesn’t wake at night to nurse anymore, which gives me and my husband our own kind of playtime. I treasure that intimacy with him. It's a different kind of connection, one I didn’t expect to still enjoy at this age.I’ve got two beautiful babies. No, I didn’t birth them—but that’s the upside. At 50, I’d hate to be pregnant again! I get to love and nurture without labor. And I get to have my husband’s affection without worrying about more babies.He’s gotten more playful lately too—sometimes we’ll be outside, and he’ll get that look in his eye and suddenly want to latch on. It’s crazy and spontaneous, but fun. We laugh about it, but it’s our thing.Life was finally settling into a groove. Baby girl was in daycare, I had gone back to work, and we had our routine down to a science. Then came baby boy—and somehow, he slid right into that schedule like he’d always been there. But it was still a lot: packing two babies up, dropping them off at daycare, working, coming home, doing it all again.Then COVID hit.I was terrified for them. Terrified for us. But I was also grateful. I was able to work from home, which meant I didn’t have to send them out into a world full of risk. With them being so small and vulnerable, it was a blessing in disguise. We hunkered down together. We bonded even more. We fed, we played, we cuddled. We survived.Looking back now, I see just how strong we were. My flow—of milk, of love, of life—never stopped. Even when the world did.

Mindfulness Practices to Support Milk Production

Empowering Your Relactation Journey

Recent blog posts

New Post

This Is My Flow - Continued

This is my flow - CONTINUES