The Sound Check

If you’ve ever sat in a symphony recital hall before the house lights go dark, you know that the first few minutes are rarely beautiful. It’s a chorus of open strings, pegs clicking to tune the instruments, and the sound of woodwinds and the booming brass section warming up. If needed, mic checks for vocalists. It’s a time for technical adjustment. A moment to prepare for the upcoming performance.

Lately, my sound check has felt a bit more complicated.

In the world of IGT (Insufficient Glandular Tissue), the morning routine can feel like trying to tune a violin with a slipping peg. You do the work, you apply the chalk, you turn the wood—and sometimes, the pitch just stays flat. In the past, I would have called that a “broken” morning. I would have spent my energy fighting the hardware, convinced that if I couldn’t hit that one specific note of full supply, the whole performance was a wash.

But here is a secret every musician eventually learns: the resonance of the wood matters more than the tension of a single string.

As we head into June, I’m stepping away from the perfection of the pitch. I’m looking at the body as an instrument of service, not a project to be fixed. Whether a peg is slipping or a string is stubborn, the music of this house, the feeding, the hiking, the toddler-chasing, doesn’t stop. It just transposes.

We’re not here to fix the instrument today. We’re just here to play.

The Mechanical Reality: The Slipping Peg

In the stringed instrument world, a slipping peg is a mundane but maddening reality. You turn the peg to reach the right pitch, and for a second, it holds. Then, with a quiet creak, it snaps back. The string goes slack. The note goes flat.

If you were a beginner, you might think you simply didn’t turn it hard enough. You might think your hands aren’t strong enough. But a virtuoso knows better. She knows that a slipping peg isn’t a reflection of talent, passion, or how many hours spent in the practice room. It is a mechanical reality. The wood of the peg and the hole in the scroll simply aren’t creating the friction required to hold that specific tension.

Having IGT (Insufficient Glandular Tissue) is exactly like that.

A Technical Hurdle, Not a Moral Failing

As musicians, we don’t look at a violin with a stubborn peg and call it evil or lazy. We don’t say the instrument is failing its purpose. We recognize it as a technical hurdle.

Yet, when it comes to our bodies, we tend to skip the technical diagnosis and go straight to a moral one. We tell ourselves we aren’t trying hard enough or that our bodies are broken. But the truth of IGT is found in the hardware. Whether it’s a lack of glandular tissue or a hormonal disconnect, it is a physical limitation of the equipment.

The Exhaustion of the “Concert”

Let’s be honest: playing a concert, while fighting your own gear is the hardest thing ever.

It is exhausting to show up every day, ready to perform, only to realize you’re spending 90% of your energy just trying to keep the instrument from falling apart. When you have to triple-feed, power-pump, and supplement, you aren’t just a mother. You’re a technician working overtime on a stage where the lights never go down.

If you feel depleted, it isn’t because you aren’t a good musician. It’s because you’ve been asked to play a masterpiece on an instrument that won’t hold its tune.

Shifting to Resonance: What is Working

If the E-string won’t hold the pitch, a musician doesn’t stop hearing the music. She just listens differently. In the world of IGT, we are taught to obsess over the output. We focus so much on the string that we forget about the resonance.

The truth is, the music isn’t coming from the string anyway. It’s coming from the body of the instrument.

The Sound Post: Your Invisible Strength

Inside every violin is a tiny, unassuming piece of wood called the sound post. It’s tucked away, invisible to the audience, but it is the soul of the instrument. It’s what allows the vibration to travel from the strings into the body of the wood. Without it, the violin would cave under the pressure of the strings.

In your life, your Sound Post is that internal, invisible architecture we talked about back in May. It is your resilience. It is the advocacy that led you to seek answers about your supply in the first place. Even when the supply feels flat, your sound post is what keeps you standing under the pressure. It is the strength that says, “I will find a way to feed my child, regardless of the hardware.”

The Acoustic Chamber: Your Body as a Sanctuary

A violin is essentially a hollow box of air designed to amplify beauty. This is your Acoustic Chamber.

Even when the string of lactation isn’t performing as you hoped, your body is still fulfilling its most vital biological functions. It is the physical space where your baby feels safe.

• Your chest is the resonance board where your baby hears the familiar metronome of your heartbeat—the same rhythm that regulated them for nine months.
• Your scent is the vibration that tells them they are home.
• Your arms are the cradle that provides the physical “containment” they need to feel secure.

The milk may be supplemented, but the sanctuary is entirely yours. Your baby isn’t just seeking a food source; they are seeking the resonance of you. When you hold them, you are perfectly in tune.

The Mastery of Transposition

In the middle of a performance, if a string is acting up or a note isn’t speaking the way it should, a master doesn’t stop the concert to apologize. She transposes.

Transposition is the art of taking a melody and moving it to a different part of the instrument. It’s a high-level skill. It requires you to know your instrument so well that you can achieve the same emotional result using a way to play that may feel a bit unfamiliar. You aren’t changing the song; you’re just changing the way you play it.

Changing the Fingering

In the Standard Motherhood Sheet Music, we are taught that the note of nourishment only happens one way. But when you have IGT, that specific fingering doesn’t work for your instrument.

So, you do what a virtuoso does: You find the note somewhere else.

When you reach for a bottle, an SNS, or donor milk, you aren’t quitting the piece. You are shifting your hand position. You are using a different string to hit the same vital note. The note is a fed baby. The note is a thriving child. The note is a peaceful home.

The Audience and the Melody

Here is the truth about your audience: your baby doesn’t have the sheet music. They aren’t sitting there with a score, checking to see if you used the correct fingering. They are just listening to the melody.

When you supplement, you are ensuring the melody stays consistent. You are filling in the gaps so the song remains full and beautiful. It takes more skill, more effort, and more technical knowledge to transpose a life than it does to play it exactly as written.

Supplementing isn’t a failed performance. It is a masterful arrangement. It is you, the musician, doing whatever it takes to make sure the music never stops.

The Virtuoso’s Maintenance

In the world of professional musicians, maintenance isn’t a luxury. You don’t oil the wood of a 100-year-old violin or replace the horsehair on your bow because you’re treating the instrument. You don’t do it to make it look pretty for a photo.

You do it because the wood is under immense pressure. If the wood becomes too dry, it cracks. If the bow hair is worn thin, it can’t grip the string. Maintenance is the quiet, disciplined work that ensures the instrument can survive the demands it endures.

The Reframe: Preserving the Wood

When we talk about nutrition, rest, and mental health in the postpartum period, we often call it self-care. But that term can feel a bit fluffy, like an optional extra we don’t have time for.

Let’s reframe it as Technical Upkeep.

• Nutrition isn’t about a diet; it’s the varnish that protects you from cracking under the daily pressure of chasing a toddler and feeding a newborn.
• Rest isn’t a treat; it’s the essential downtime required for the strings to keep their elasticity.
• Movement isn’t about the mirror; it’s about keeping the “joints” of the instrument fluid and responsive.

Respecting the Equipment

You wouldn’t expect a master violinist to play a three-hour concerto on an instrument that hasn’t been serviced in years. You shouldn’t expect yourself to perform one of the hardest things ever without the proper upkeep.

When you sit down to eat a nourishing meal or ask for help so you can sleep, you aren’t being indulgent. You are performing vital maintenance on the primary equipment of your home. You are ensuring that the instrument (you) stays whole, resonant, and ready for the next movement of the symphony.

The Song is the Priority

At the end of the day, when the lights are low and the house finally settles, it is helpful to remember who we are playing for.

Your baby isn’t a critic in the front row with a scorecard. They aren’t checking your tuning against a professional standard or comparing your output to the mother’s in the next house over. They have no concept of ounces or IGT.

They are simply listening for the resonance of your presence.

They are listening for the steady beat of your heart, the warmth of your skin, and the familiar vibration of your voice as you hum them to sleep. To them, the performance is already a masterpiece because you are the one playing it. Even if the hardware is tricky, even if a peg is slipping, and even if you have to transpose the entire melody to a different string, the song is still playing. And for your baby, that is the only thing that matters.

The Encore: Your Turn

We spend so much time focusing on the one string that feels out of tune that we overlook the symphony happening all around us.

Let’s do a sound check of a different kind today. Comment below with one string in your life that is in tune right now. It has nothing to do with supply and everything to do with your skill as the virtuoso of your home.

Is it your patience with your toddler during a meltdown? Your ability to advocate for your newborn’s needs? Or maybe it’s the physical strength that carried you through today’s hike?

Whatever it is, name it. Let it resonate. The song is the priority, and you are doing a beautiful job playing it.

P.S. If you’re navigating the complex emotions of low supply today, please know that you are sufficient. I’ve put together a 46-page workbook to help mothers like us heal the emotional side of this journey. Click here to purchase Sufficient: Healing the Heart of the Low Supply Mother