By Ceres Chill Mom, Danielle Mercer
A Quick Note Before We Begin
Before we dive in, I want to acknowledge that this story includes discussion of miscarriage, pregnancy loss, pregnancy after loss, NICU life, and infant medical complications.
I know these topics can be incredibly difficult, especially for anyone who has experienced pregnancy loss, infertility, infant loss, or a NICU stay of their own. If you are currently trying to grow your family, waiting for your rainbow baby, navigating infertility, grieving a loss, or carrying the anxiety that often comes with pregnancy after loss, please take care of yourself and read only if and when you feel ready.
While this journey ultimately has a happy ending, not every storm is followed by a rainbow. Some families experience additional losses, secondary infertility, or make the heartbreaking decision to stop trying. I never want to take for granted how fortunate we were to welcome Parker into our lives.
To those still waiting for your rainbow, please know I think of you often. I genuinely hope the day comes when you are able to hold your baby in your arms.
Also, whatever feeding journey you’ve chosen for your baby is valid.
Whether you breastfeed, pump, formula feed, or do a combination of all three — you are not failing, and your worth as a mother is not defined by how your baby is fed. Fed is best. I
share my pumping journey not as a comparison point, and not as a standard to measure yourself against. My supply is not typical. It is extremely abnormal, and it has come with its own physical, emotional, and logistical challenges that are not always visible in photos, numbers, or donation totals.
What you see here is a highlight of output — not the full reality of effort. Behind every ounce is time, exhaustion, pain, scheduling pressure, and a mental load that I do not take lightly.
This journey has also included formula use when medically necessary. Parker was a preemie and required fortified feeds to support her growth, and we did what was best for her at every stage, including using formula when needed.
I also want to acknowledge something important: many moms want to breastfeed or pump and are not able to, despite trying everything. That is not a failure. That is not a reflection of effort or love. If anything in these post makes you feel less than, I want to gently redirect that feeling. That is not the intention here.
If it makes you feel seen, supported, or less alone in the chaos of feeding a baby — then I’m glad I shared it.
We are all just trying to feed our babies and get through the day. That’s enough.
I grew up in the world of obstetrics and gynecology. I knew just about everything there was to know about pregnancy, falling short of the actual experience. Long before I became pregnant, I knew I wanted to provide breastmilk for my baby. But after watching so many friends have babies before me, I realized I wanted the flexibility that pumping could provide. I didn't want my baby to have to rely solely on me for every feeding. I needed others to be able to step in and help. Looking back, having that mindset ended up helping me later.
But to tell the story of my pumping journey, I have to start at the beginning. The very beginning.
In January 2023, I stepped off a cruise ship feeling sick as a dog. I didn't think much of it. I have never done well on cruises, and by the end of that trip I had sworn it would be my last. When I was still feeling awful two weeks later, I took a pregnancy test mostly to rule it out as the cause. Instead, I found myself staring at two pink lines.
What followed was a journey I never could have imagined. A high-risk twin pregnancy. A devastating loss. A surprise diagnosis for my daughter before she was even born. A NICU stay. An overwhelming oversupply of breast milk. And eventually, the opportunity to help feed babies I would never meet.
At the time, I thought I was simply becoming a mother. I had no idea I was heading off on a donor journey that would impact far more than just my own child.
The Beginning Nobody Plans For
I didn’t start this journey as someone trying to “optimize” anything. I started it just trying to get drops into tiny syringes.
Parker arrived 6 weeks early and was whisked away to the NICU for a feeding tube. I had always assumed that right after delivery, babies would be placed on their mother’s chest and instinct would take over—rooting, latching, breastfeeding beginning naturally. So when I was settled into my room, I asked if I was supposed to start pumping right away.
My nurse said she could get a pump for me, but there were no lactation consultants on shift. It was 11pm. I decided to push it off so I could go see my baby instead. I told myself I’d figure it out later.
In those first few days, pumping was overwhelming. I had a rough start and honestly didn’t even want to try again after my initial experience. I even blew off a lactation consultant after a difficult first interaction.
It wasn’t until the third lactation specialist came in that things shifted. Emily showed up with the most positive energy, supportive and encouraging, and helped turn everything around in those early days. She even gently reminded Travis about washing pump parts while I was doing the hard work.
In those first days, I was only producing drops. The NICU nurses gave me tiny syringes to collect whatever I could. At one point, I poured out what I thought was “nothing” so I wouldn’t waste a syringe. I didn’t yet understand how valuable even those small amounts were, and I was quickly corrected and educated by my care team.
Later, I remember walking down the hall to the NICU proudly holding up a syringe after what I thought was a “good” pump. The nurses cheered like I had accomplished something far bigger than I realized. That moment stayed with me. It was the first time I felt like maybe I could actually do this.
That encouragement became the turning point that kept me going when everything still felt overwhelming and unsustainable.
The System Takes Over
At first, pumping was chaos. At home, at the hospital, in between feeds, in between exhaustion.
The milk really started to accumulate. Then it became a logistical problem.
I was filling up both the fridge and freezer at the NICU and was consistently being asked to bring in coolers to take milk home. That milk quickly filled the freezers of our main fridge and garage freezer. We bought a new freezer. Then another freezer. In all, we were rotating between five freezers just to get a handle on it.
What started as “just enough for Parker” turned into “we need a system for this.” Anything pumped at home stayed at home, and anything pumped at the NICU stayed at the NICU. But even with that separation, I was still maxing out both the NICU fridge and freezer.
Then came the turning point…
Milk Banks, Money, and Meaning
The nurses quickly realized I was an overproducer. They would joke that I could feed the entire NICU. Then one day, another NICU baby ran out of donor milk, and someone said they wished they could use mine.
That was the moment milk banks entered the story.
The hospital we were at was a depot site for the Mother’s Milk Bank of South Carolina, so that became my first stop. I was approved within a week or two and started donating as soon as I could. It didn’t take long before I was maxing out their freezer space.
At that point, I started looking for secondary—and then tertiary—options. I signed up with Tiny Treasures and later NI-Q. What had once been milk stacking up in freezers at home and the hospital suddenly became something else. It started moving. It started feeding other babies. It stopped feeling like something I was just storing and started becoming something I was distributing. I even had to request multiple shipping coolers at a time just to keep up.
It became a rhythm: pump, store, ship, repeat.
Donation breakdown:
- 9,475 oz to Mother’s Milk Bank of South Carolina — 466 babies fed
- 12,012 oz to Tiny Treasures — 26 babies fed
- 4,118 oz to NI-Q
- 1,000 oz in private donations
Across it all, roughly 70% of everything I produced was donated.
The milk banks I shipped to were both paid banks, and I made close to $17,500. It helped with my truck payment, other bills and the practical reality of staying home with a baby who spent her first year at appointments.
But somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling meaningful—it became infrastructure. And even with the financial reward, it still added pressure. Shipping anxiety. Timing stress. Policy changes. Delayed packages. Confusing communication.
It had worked… until it didn’t feel sustainable anymore.
That’s when the shift toward weaning really began.
The Hard Parts Nobody Sees
There’s a version of this story that looks inspiring.
And then there’s the version that looks like this:
- Middle-of-the-night alarms every 3 hours
- Engorgement, clogged ducts, pain, exhaustion
- Washing pump parts until your hands crack
- Planning your entire day around pump windows
- Freezer anxiety
- Shipping stress
- Emotional burnout
And eventually… decision fatigue.
Every day, I wanted to quit at some point.
But every time I thought about stopping, I thought about the moms who couldn’t produce, couldn’t continue, or never got the chance at all.
And I kept going for them—until I reached the point where I knew I finally had to put my foot down for myself.
The Slow Goodbye
I didn't stop overnight. I tried. It didn't work. Like everything else in this journey, weaning turned out to be far more complicated than I expected.
My original plan was ambitious. I wanted to be finished before World Breast Pumping Day 2026 and let that special blog post be my official goodbye. I had ChatGPT build me a weaning schedule and figured I'd simply drop pump sessions until I was done.
The problem was, I hadn't started early enough. I'd only given myself a few days to adjust between dropped sessions. Turns out, after spending more than a year producing milk for what felt like multiple babies, my body wasn't interested in following my timeline.
I was able to go from four pumps a day down to three, but when I tried dropping to two, I found myself in a lot of pain. So I stopped. Instead of forcing it, I maintained three daily pumping sessions and gave my body time to adjust.
From there, I took a much slower approach:
- Dropping pumps every other month
- Reducing session lengths in 5-minute increments each week
- Holding steady when my body pushed back
- Going from 8 pumps a day… to 4… to 3… to 2… to 1
Some months were progress. Some months were simply allowing my body time to catch up. What I thought would take six weeks ultimately took six months.
But eventually, the rhythm changed. The freezer stopped filling as quickly. The pump stopped dictating every decision.
And little by little, I started getting my time back.
What I Didn't Expect
I thought I would be most emotional about stopping. But what surprised me was something else. I didn’t feel loss in the way I expected. I felt completion. Not because the journey reached some perfect natural ending, but because I finally reached a point where I felt at peace with ending it.
For nearly two years, there was always another goal: another donation, another shipment, another freezer to empty, another baby to help. The goalposts moved over and over again throughout this journey, and each time I found a reason to keep going just a little longer. Eventually, I realized I didn’t need another milestone.
Parker had been fed. The freezers had been emptied and refilled more times than I can count. The donations had been made. The babies had been helped.
I had already done enough. After 21 months, I had nothing left to prove.
The Data
Over the course of 21 months, I completed 3,270 pumping sessions, totaling 1,587 hours (that's just over 66 days) and producing 37,934 ounces of milk. According to ChatGPT, that equates to approximately 758,676 calories burned and can be estimated to be worth well over $150,000. My personal record was pumping 38 ounces in a single session, while the most I ever pumped in one day was 105.5 ounces. In total, I donated 26,605 ounces—70% of everything I produced. That included 1,000 ounces through private donations (3%), 9,475 ounces to the Mother's Milk Bank of South Carolina (25%), 12,012 ounces to Tiny Treasures (32%), and 4,118 ounces to Ni-Q (11%). Along the way, I earned $17,315 through paid milk donations.
At my peak, I was pumping around 100 ounces a day.
And somewhere along the way, it stopped being just about feeding Parker.
It became something bigger than that—measuring success not in ounces alone, but in the babies those ounces could help nourish.
The Meaning Behind It All
The most meaningful part of this journey is reflecting on where this excess milk may have come from.
At one point, someone commented that I was producing as if I had twins. And in a way, I did.
Before Parker, I conceived monochorionic-monoamniotic twins—an incredibly rare pregnancy—and we lost them at seven weeks.
I choose to believe this is part of their legacy. They knew their mama’s servant heart, and I like to think they had a hand in making sure Parker’s extra milk could be put to good use helping others.
I’ll never know if that’s true. But it brings me comfort to believe that a small piece of their story lives on in every cooler shipped, every donation made, and every baby fed.
The End
I don’t know what life looks like completely without pumping yet.
But I do know this:
I started this journey thinking I was just feeding my baby. And I ended it realizing I helped feed hundreds more.
Somewhere in the middle of all the alarms, freezers, bags, pumps, and exhaustion… I became someone I didn’t expect.
Someone who could give more than I thought I had.
And now, I’m finally all pumped out.
Frequently Asked Questions About Pumping and Breast Milk Donation
How much breast milk did you donate in total?
Over 21 months, I donated 26,605 ounces — about 70% of the 37,934 ounces I produced. That included donations to the Mother's Milk Bank of South Carolina, Tiny Treasures, NI-Q, and private donations to families.
How do you donate breast milk to a milk bank?
Every milk bank has its own screening process, but it typically involves a health questionnaire, a review of your medications and lifestyle, and often a blood test. My first donation was through my hospital, which was a depot site for the Mother's Milk Bank of South Carolina, and I was approved within a week or two. If you're interested in donating, start by contacting a milk bank near you or asking your hospital's NICU or lactation team where they source donor milk.
Do milk banks pay for breastmilk?
Some do and some don't. Nonprofit milk banks generally do not pay donors, while some for-profit or research-based milk banks offer compensation. Two of the banks I donated to were paid banks, and I earned $17,315 over the course of my journey. Compensation policies, shipping logistics, and requirements vary by bank, so read the details carefully before committing.
Is producing 100 ounces of milk a day normal?
No — and I want to be very clear about that. My supply was an extreme oversupply, and it is not a standard anyone should measure themselves against. Most exclusively pumping moms produce a fraction of that, and many moms can't produce at all despite doing everything “right.” Oversupply also comes with real downsides: engorgement, clogged ducts, pain, freezer management, and a schedule built entirely around the pump. Fed is best, however you get there.
How often were you pumping?
At my peak, I was pumping 8 times a day, including middle-of-the-night sessions every 3 hours. Over 21 months, that added up to 3,270 pumping sessions and 1,587 hours attached to a pump.
How long does it take to wean from exclusive pumping?
For me, six months — much longer than the six weeks I originally planned. With a large supply, dropping sessions too quickly caused pain, so I slowed way down: dropping one pump every other month, shortening sessions in 5-minute increments each week, and holding steady whenever my body pushed back. Everyone's timeline is different, and a lactation consultant can help you build a weaning plan that works for your body.
Can you pump for a baby in the NICU?
Yes. If your baby is in the NICU, the nursing and lactation staff can help you get started, even if you're only producing drops at first. Those tiny syringes of colostrum matter more than you might realize — don't pour out what looks like “nothing.” Ask for a lactation consultant early, and don't be afraid to ask again if the first visit doesn't click. It took three tries before I found the one who changed everything for me.
What happens to donated breastmilk?
Milk banks screen, pasteurize, and test donated milk before distributing it — most often to premature and medically fragile babies in NICUs whose mothers can't provide enough milk. My donations to the Mother's Milk Bank of South Carolina alone helped feed 466 babies.
Note: I'm sharing my personal experience, not medical advice. Please talk with your doctor, your baby's pediatrician, or a lactation consultant about what's right for you and your family.