Anna Fuderer 7/2/26 Anna Fuderer 7/2/26

The 60 Minute Nap Time Illusion

There is a magical moment every parent waits for.

The house get quiet.

Three babies are finally asleep.

You look around, take a deep breath, and think…

“Okay. I have an hour.”

An hour sounds like forever-until you’re a parent.

Because somehow, in those sixty short minutes, I can convince myself I can:

Fold three mountains of laundry.
Empty and reload a dishwasher.
Wipe down the kitchen.
Vaccum the floors.
Shower.
Wash my hair.
Answer text messages.
Eat an actual meal while it’s still hot.
Prep dinner.
Get a workout in.
Spend one on one time with Mia,
Sit down for “just five mintes.”
And maybe…close my eye…

The math never adds up.

Instead, I spend the first ten minutes debating what deserves my attention the most.

Should I shower because I haven’t had one today?

Should I clean the playroom because it looks like a tornado made of diapers, toys and snack cups?

Should I workout because I keep telling myself “I’ll start tomorrow?”

Or should I forget all of that and spend uniterrupted time with Mia - the child who quielty wait while her little siblings need me every minute of everyday.

Every choice feels like I’m neglecting something else.

Somedays I choose the dishes.

Somedays I choose the laundry.

Somedays I choose myself and my workout.

And somedays…I choose absolutely nothing. I sit on the couch in complete silence because my body isn’t asking me to be produtive. It’s asking me to relax and rest.

Motherhood has taught me that rest isn’t laizness.

It’s survivial.

I’ve spent so much of this past year believing that every nap should be productive - that if I wasn’t crossing things of my to-do list, I was wasting precious time.

But lately, I’m realizing something.

The to-do list will still be there.

The laundry will always come back.

The dishes will reproduce.

There will always be something to clean.

The crumbs aren’t going anywhere.

But my babies won’t always nap.

Mia won’t always ask me to color with her.

One day this house will be clean, quiet, and organized.

And I have a feeling I'll miss the chaos more than I can imagine.

So if today’s nap was spent eating lunch while scrolling your phone….

Or taking a shower.

Or drinking your coffee or chai in silence.

Or cuddling your oldest child.

You didn’t waste your hour.

You used it exactly how you needed to.

And maybe that’s the most productive thing a mom can do.

Anna Fuderer 6/26/26 Anna Fuderer 6/26/26

Pumping for Triplets: A Love Story Between Me, My Pump, and Complete Exhaustion

When I found out I was having triplets, I worried about a lot of things.

How could we fit three cribs in one room?

How would I survive feeding three babies?

How many diapers would I go through in 24 hours?

What I didn’t appreciate was that I was about to enter into a committed, around-the-clock relationship with a breast pump.

For 16 months, my life was measured in ounces, flange sizes, pump parts, milk storage bags, and the never-ending question, “When did I pump last?”

The Early Days

When I found out I was having triplets the question of “are you going to breastfeed?” came up a lot. I was open to whatever my babies needed but knew I would at least try and pump. My babies arrived at 30 weeks, went straight to NICU, and 2 hours later I had my first pump session with 0 ounces to show for it. As a nurse, I knew this was completely normal, but was still incredibly frustrated. While other moms were breastfeeding their newborns I sat attached to a pump every 2-3 hours, and I was determined to pump more often so my body could understand we needed milk for more than just one baby. The more I pumped, the more ounces I got.

Each ounce felt like a victory.

Each pumping session felt like one small thing I could do for my babies when so much was out of my control.

The NICU quickly taught me that breastmilk wasn’t just food - it was medicine.

So I pumped.

And pumped.

And pumped some more.

The Schedule Never Ends

My goal was never to exclusively pump for my triplets. I just wanted my body to make as much as I could. For 3 months I could have supplied the babies with just my breastmilk. For Margot, I did but the boys had other plans. Throughout their stays blood would be found in their stool. IVs would be placed and fluids given. The change from my breastmilk to a hypoallergenic milk would be done. I would go dairy free and soy free with the hope they could be switched back.

Archer would, he was able to come off formula and go back to breastmilk at about 2 months old.

Crew still had other plans. He waited until he was discharged home to be transitioned to my milk.

Margot, like the queen she is, never had an issue.

Those first few months my days revolved around pumping alarms. I’d pump as soon as I woke up. I’d pump after I dropped Mia off at preschool while driving to the hospital. I’d pump overnight. Every 3 hours, there I was, attached to a pump.

Thank goodness for pumping bras and hands free pumps! I learned to multi-task.

I learned to wash pump parts faster than I ever thought possible.

I learned that if I sat down to relax, there was a very good chance I was supposed to be pumping and I would feel guilty if I didn’t.

The Numbers

At one point, I was producing enough milk to feed three babies entirely from my body.

That still amazes me.

Over my 16 month pumping journey I produced over 16,000 ounces of breastmilk.

At my peak I was averaging over 40 ounces a day.

These ounces nourished my babies, help with growth spurts and illness.

Every bag in the fridge represented time. Time spent awake while I wanted to sleep. Time spent attached to a pump, instead of just sitting on the couch. Time spent choosing persistence when quitting would have been so much easier.

The Hard Parts Nobody Talks About

Pumping can be lonely.

People see the milk but not the work behind it.

They don’t see the middle-of-the night sessions.

The clogged ducts.

The leaking shirts.

The mental load of constantly calculating ounces.

The guilt when supply drops.

The anxiety when the freezer stash shrinks.

The exhaustion of knowing your body is still feeding babies long after everyone else has gone to bed.

There were days I wanted to quit.

Days I cried.

Days I wondered if one more pumping session was worth it.

What Kept Me Going

Three tiny reasons.

Crew.

Archer.

Margot.

I always said I would try and pump for them and give what I could. Margot exclusively got breastmilk and the boys got a mix of both breastmilk and formula. Some people ask why the boys, and it was simply because their gut was already exposed to formula. So I didn’t mind giving them both, and I was not overexerting myself trying to exclusively pump for all three. I was happy with what I could do.

Every pump, every ounce was worth it.

The Day I Realized I was Done

I thought I would be excited.

Instead I felt sad.

Relieved.

Grateful.

And proud.

Pumping was such a huge part of my identity as a mom that letting it go felt strangely emotional. For 16 months, my body had been helping sustain three little lives. For me, when I was done - I was done. The end of era. I was officially out of the pregnancy and baby era and heading into the era of watching my children grow up.

No more babies.

No more pumping.

It was a bittersweet feeling that was hard to let go. I didn’t know what I would do with the time I was getting back.

To the Mom Pumping Right Now

Whether you’re pumping for one baby or three, I want you to know this:

The hours count.

The effort counts.

The middle-of-the night sessions count.

The tears count

The ounces count.

Most importantly - you count.

Your worth isn’t measured in ounces. Your babies don’t love you because of what’s in a bottle.

They love you because you are their mom.

The milk is just a bonus.

And if you’re reading this while attached to a pump, wondering if anyone understands how hard this is…

I do.

I’ve been there.

Probably while eating my ice cream treat and trying to keep three babies happy at the same time - plus a toddler.