Leaving your baby overnight while breastfeeding? Here's what it takes.

The logistics, tears, and community behind travel as a breastfeeding mom.

May 21, 2025

Trepidation. Anxiety. The quiet hope that my flight would get canceled. Finding meaning in all the “signs” from the universe to turn around: the missed detour for the highway leading to the airport, the oversold flight and exorbitant cash offers for someone willing to take a later flight, the penny facing up on the ground as I boarded.

I experienced all of these feelings, plus the existential fear that comes with flying when you have so much more to live for, during my first trip away from our 7-month-old this past weekend.

I was heading to the wedding of some dear long-term friends. The trip would span just 30 hours away from my two little ones.

30 hours to celebrate a stunning, gorgeous and doting love at sunset on the Hudson.

30 hours to reconnect with my college friends, to sing ‘til our voices gave out, dance ‘til our feet ached, and cackle into the heavens about the absurdity of our grown-up lives.

The reunion felt like this - dreamy and absurd and connective and flourescent

The trip also brought on 30 hours of exclusive pumping.

Of missing my babies and wondering what they were up to.

Of worrying about the thawed bags of milk in my fridge at home and hoping they were enough to supply baby girl for the weekend.

Of hoping my return flight wasn’t too delayed, sitting in fear that the cooler of pumped milk I carried back would not warm too much.

Of buying an $8 airport can of San Pellegrino to add to the breast milk cooler for an extra zap of cold.

The travel felt like this: angsty and icy cold

Moms know that travelling away from your small children for any period of time brings on a complex emotional stew.

Solo travel may offer a quick dose of breezy freedom and a sacred reminder of who you can be outside of mothering. But equally, it distances you from the dewy depths of holding your tiny human(s), resting cheek to cheek and being someone’s everything. Its a welcome respite and an achy longing all at once.
Untethered as it may feel, “getting away” does not eliminate the administrative load of mothering. Nor does it negate the emotional worry or the very real hormonal load for postpartum and breastfeeding parents.

In my own instance, my lactating boobs grew engorged and developed clogs within just 18 hours of separation from my daughter. By the end of my trip, I was desperate for our girl to save me from the looming threat of mastitis. Despite my diligent mechanized pumping and the accompanying soapy scrubbing of pump parts in various public and hotel bathrooms, my breasts simply couldn’t empty like they do when baby girl nurses. And despite the opportunity for a night of uninterrupted rest, I found my biological alarm bells blaring at 4 a.m.. Instead of breastfeeding my 7-month old side-laying in the dark, I wrangled a set plastic flanges under forced hotel lighting.

Ever the women’s health nerd, I quickly researched the impact of such a brief period away from my daughter on my motherly hormones. Not surprisingly, I learned that our physical distance diminished my oxytocin response and increased my cortisol levels1. And yea, that’s what falling back asleep at 6 am after pumping felt like: angsty, lonely, and a lot less cuddly.\

If heading to the wedding generates this level of hormonal grief and motherly worry, is the tradeoff of traveling with(out) little babies really worth it?

Answers may vary, but I think the answer for my husband and I hinges on the idea that its not just about us. The calculus changes when you expand the pie and realize, we exist in community.

In the case of this past weekend, traveling to the wedding didn’t just mean reconnecting with some dear friends from college. It also offered me a chance to connect with a childhood best friend for the day. Beyond my own connections, the celebration and travel called upon my husband to step up and solo parent for the weekend. And because parenting 2-under-2 for a full weekend is a game of Tetris that requires more than 2 adult hands, that meant we invited the grandparents (my parents) to drive 4 hours each way to come support.2

There’s something beautiful in this exchange of responsibility from one generation to another for a brief moment in time. Of course, (most) grandparents love the temporary return to the “all in” responsibility of caring for babies, and they’ll tell you vocally what a treat it is to come and help. But, just under the surface of grandparent love, there is that core foundation of parental love.

To witness the lengths my own parents go to to make their adult children feel more secure in our own parenthood offers a firm reminder that the web of love and support we extend to our kids never weakens.

They didn’t just come to help me or my husband, however. And they didn’t just come because they love their grandkids. My parents came to help because they wanted to support the friendships that extend across our broader community. They came because they, too, love the couple getting married and wanted to help celebrate them.

All of this context matters in clarifying just how much community matters. Lately, unpacking the support I give and receive has helped me realize the scale at which I am held up by and uphold community. I’m tired and overextended, yet filled with more love than I know what to do with. I need help, but I also want to offer it. I’m not just trying to show up more for my community, but I’m trying to find its edges - to understand what support looks like in the instance of a stranger I don’t know at the airport or on Substack.

If I slide into your DMs or leave a gushing comment on your post or note, that’s where I’m coming from. If I offer to take your cart back at the grocery store, because I see you have a little kid with you that needs to go in their car seat, that’s where I’m coming from.

1. Weeping Magdalen, by Charles Berg 2. Nine Figures, by Arthur Davies — Classical art depictions of the vibes: hormonal flux and women in community; art by Charles Berg and Arthur Davies

And to be honest, I think we all need to be coming from that place more often. We need to notice when strangers or those we know and love might need support, love, or a set of hands. We need to consider what support might mean to those around us and consider that it might mean more than we even know.

Once you start noticing your community, you’ll most definitely feel the call to action. You might also start to notice all the love and support you receive a bit more vividly. And once you notice that love and support, you won’t just feel gratitude. You might even feel more comfortable taking a solo trip. Dominoes and whatnot.

Motherloud

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