For the last eight years, breastfeeding has been a profound and defining part of my life. Growing up, it was ingrained in my culture. My mother breastfed me and my siblings, and my grandmother did the same for her children. It was a natural part of newborn life that I assumed would come effortlessly when it was my turn.

The Unexpected Struggles of My First Experience

When I became pregnant, people asked if I planned to breastfeed or formula-feed. The question seemed odd—of course, I was going to breastfeed. Formula was expensive, and I thought, "How hard could it be to put a baby on the breast?"

Then my son was born, and reality hit hard. Latching was brutal. My nipples weren’t formed for an infant’s tiny mouth, and he would tire easily, falling asleep almost immediately. Despite help from the hospital’s lactation specialist, I struggled. My baby cried incessantly, and I felt broken. I questioned everything—was he starving? Was I incapable of feeding him?

That first night, a nurse told me to feed him formula because I was "starving my baby." I felt guilty and defeated but followed her advice. Looking back, I know now that the lactation consultant was right—babies don’t need much in those first 24 hours. But those early days were a nightmare of self-doubt and sleepless nights.

Finding My Rhythm

At three weeks old, something clicked. My son finally latched properly, and nursing became easier. I stopped supplementing with formula and dove headfirst into a cycle of nursing, pumping, and building my milk supply. The oversupply I created in my panic during those first weeks was exhausting, but I was determined to make it work.

Breastfeeding became a joyful experience, despite the sacrifices. The pinches, kicks, and acrobatics of an older baby were worth it. It was a part of my life, my identity as a mother.

Lessons Learned for Baby #2

By the time I had my second child, I was prepared. I had the pump ready, the knowledge that everything would be okay if she didn’t latch immediately, and the confidence to offer formula if needed.

To my surprise, she latched perfectly from the start. She was in the NICU for a week, and my body seemed to know she needed extra support. I pumped tiny bottles for her, and my milk flowed effortlessly. She became my most exclusively breastfed baby, refusing bottles after two months. She was always by my side, and I adapted to her needs.

Striking a Balance with Baby #3

For my third baby, I learned from my previous experiences and ensured she accepted both breast and bottle. This balance allowed me more flexibility, and I found a rhythm that worked for both of us.

Navigating Breastfeeding Through Health Challenges

Throughout these years, I was managing my own health challenges, including ulcerative colitis. I only took medications that were breastfeeding-safe, often sacrificing my own well-being. Looking back, I realize there’s no medal for these sacrifices. It’s about what works best for your family and your circumstances.

The Final Stretch: Baby #4

By the time I had my fourth baby, I was ready to be done with breastfeeding. Not because I didn’t cherish the bond but because my body and mind were exhausted after eight years. I felt like I was crawling toward the finish line.

The last session with my youngest wasn’t emotional or bittersweet. It was simply the end. I explained to her that it was time, and she transitioned beautifully to cow’s milk. Now, our bedtime routine is filled with hugs, dancing, and singing. She rests her head against my chest, comforted by my heartbeat and scent, and falls asleep peacefully.

Returning to Myself

After eight years, I’m finally regaining parts of myself. The midnight feedings are gone, my body is reclaiming its energy, and I’m rediscovering sleep. Breastfeeding was a marathon of sacrifice, joy, and resilience, and now, as this chapter closes, I’m ready to embrace the next stages of motherhood.