It’s 3:14 am. The baby has just gone back down. The mother — let’s call her one of the women we interviewed for this piece — checks her shirt before her head hits the pillow. Wet. Again. She slides a fresh muslin under her side of the sheet, swaps her T-shirt, and lies awake calculating whether there’s enough time to wash everything before the next feed. This is not a single bad night. This is most nights for the first three months. And almost no one talks about it.
For a problem this widespread, postpartum night leakage is remarkably absent from the official conversation. Hospital discharge leaflets mention it in passing. Most antenatal classes skip it. The mothers we spoke with — eleven, across Belgium and the Netherlands, between two weeks and ten months postpartum — used near-identical language to describe it. I had to sleep on a towel. Soggy pyjama shirt. Doorweekt. I just stopped trying to keep the bed dry.
I had a stack of muslins by the bed and I just rotated through them. That was my system. A system.
The standard solution offered — disposable nursing pads — comes up in conversation the way bad weather does. With resignation. One mother, eight weeks postpartum, described them as a sanitary pad stuck to my chest. Another, ten months in and still breastfeeding, said the pads bunched up so often that by the morning there’s a sticky sausage in my bra and I have no idea where the other one went. The complaints are consistent across reviews on Mumsnet, Reddit’s r/breastfeeding community, and Dutch-language forums: pads shift, stick to skin, show through shirts, and, in the words of one reviewer, make me feel disgusting.
Lactation consultant Mira Janssens, who has worked with first-time mothers in Antwerp for over a decade, was unsurprised by the language. Mothers blame themselves, she said. They think their body is doing something wrong. It isn’t. The let-down reflex is hormonally driven — it doesn’t care that it’s 3 am, or that you’re in a meeting, or that you’re at a dinner. The problem is that the products we hand mothers are roughly the same as they were in 1995.
The Voedingscentrum, the Dutch national nutrition authority, reported in 2016 that around one in three women feel uncomfortable breastfeeding in public. Among the mothers we spoke with, that discomfort was not abstract — it was practical. I stopped saying yes to coffees, said one woman, three months postpartum at the time of the interview. Not because I didn’t want to go. Because I didn’t trust my shirt. Three of the eleven mothers we spoke with had skipped a social event in the previous month for the same reason.
I didn’t trust my shirt. So I stayed home. And then I felt worse for staying home.
The four-layer cup — and why it matters.
Among the smaller brands rethinking this category is Vemorina, a Belgian label launched in 2026 by Jurgen and Alejandra — a couple who, by their own account, began the project because they were considering children themselves and were struck by how openly a close friend (referred to by the pseudonym Lien, to protect her privacy) described postpartum problems that had never come up in any conversation before. Jurgen’s mother, when asked separately, said the same things, decades later. So he started reading. Reddit threads, postpartum forums, reviews of every nursing bra on the market. The pattern was clear: every existing bra solved one piece — comfort, or access for breastfeeding, or a bit of absorption — and almost none of them solved them together.
The product itself is a wireless nursing bra built around a four-layer cup. The inside layer is soft against skin (OEKO-TEX Class I certified, the standard applied to fabrics intended for products that contact infants directly). Above it sits an absorbent core, internally tested to hold 30 ml per cup — roughly the volume of a typical between-feed leak. A barrier layer prevents transfer through to the outer fabric. The supportive outer structure carries the cup without underwire. Broad bands, one-hand nursing clips. Designed in Belgium, shipping from Belgium, with 48-hour delivery to addresses in Belgium and the Netherlands.
What changes when the problem moves.
The mothers we spoke with who had switched to integrated absorbent nursing bras described a particular kind of quiet. I stopped checking my shirt, one said. That’s the thing I didn’t expect. The whole check-routine just stopped. Another mother described going to her best friend’s birthday dinner six weeks postpartum — her first proper night out — and forgetting, for hours at a time, that she was breastfeeding. That was the moment, she said. Not the dinner. The forgetting.
This is the language of one less thing, and it’s striking how consistent it is. Knix reviewers say it about period underwear. Thinx customers say it. Frida Mom customers say it. And the mothers using integrated nursing bras say it. The product category varies; the relief is the same. The promise that sells, in the end, is not drier — it is quieter.
I forgot, for hours at a time. That was the moment.
For mothers who’ve had enough of the towel-and-muslin system, the Vemorina bra is available now. Shipped from Belgium in 48 hours.
