Everyone says, “Breast is best.” For me, it wasn’t just a slogan, it felt like the only option. My body makes the milk as soon as the baby is born. It must be for them, right?
Here’s the thing: of all my friends and family growing up, every single baby I’d seen was formula-fed. I didn’t have anyone to ask about breastfeeding, only the internet. Once I had my son, the hospital’s lactation nurse gave me some guidance, but honestly, talking about the process and living it are two very different things.
When my son latched for the first time, it hurt. Not just sore nipples, but stomach cramps too. Every time he nursed, it felt like a wave of cramps hit me. The nurses explained it was my uterus contracting back to size. It made sense, but I still wondered: if breastfeeding helps the body heal, why doesn’t everyone do it?
Then came the cracked nipples, the bleeding, the endless cluster feeds. Coconut oil didn’t help. Pumping felt useless, I barely saw anything come out. I kept wondering: is he getting enough?
But slowly, it clicked. A few months in, my nipples healed, my son started gaining weight, and I realized he was sleeping through the night. Feeding him became natural. What started out as painful and stressful turned into something I treasured. I breastfed him for 16 months.
Fast forward eight years later, and I’m here again with my daughter. The same challenges showed up, but this time, I recognized them, and they passed quicker. She got my milk in before I even left the hospital. By her first appointment, just a few days later, she was already one ounce away from her birth weight. By one month, she was 10 lbs 6 oz, up from 7 lbs 12 oz.
Still, the same thoughts crept in: is she getting enough? I remind myself: she’s tiny, her tummy is tiny. My breasts feel full before she feeds, soft after, and she has more wet diapers than I can count. The signs are there. She’s fine.
One thing that really helped was visiting a lactation support group. They weighed her before and after feeding. She got 3 oz in under 10 minutes. That blew my mind because my son used to nurse for 30 minutes at a time. It reminded me: every baby is different. And being around other moms, hearing their struggles and stories, was a gift. It’s not that you want other people to struggle, but it helps to know you’re not alone.
And it gave me perspective, too. Some of their babies had bigger health challenges…club feet, hearing issues. I felt grateful that my biggest worries were a little cradle cap, a stubborn umbilical cord stump, and a crusty eye.
So, am I doing this right? Yes. Because “right” isn’t perfect. It’s showing up every day, learning as you go, and giving your child the best of what you have. And that, I remind myself, is enough.
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