On Breastfeeding

Motherhood is one long lesson of surrendering and learning as you go. One of the things I didn’t realize would be so challenging to learn was breastfeeding. It is the most natural thing in the world for us mammals, and yet it comes with a steep learning curve.

I always knew I wanted to breastfeed. My mom wasn’t able to breastfeed me because she didn’t have enough milk, so that story stayed with me. In the back of my mind, there was a quiet anxiety: Will I have enough milk for my baby?

Within the first hour after my daughter was born, I remember my husband asking the nurses to place her on my chest right away. That first contact is apparently very important for establishing milk supply. She was laid on my breast, latched almost immediately, and began drinking colostrum.

It amazed me how instinctively babies seem to know what to do.

The first sensation was strange, but also beautiful. And above all, it was a relief.

In the hospital, lactation consultants visited me and showed me how to position her and how to help her latch properly. There are several breastfeeding positions, and at the time, none of them felt comfortable. But comfort didn’t matter much to me then. I was simply grateful that she was eating.

On the third day after birth, things became much more uncomfortable.

My milk came in, and my breasts suddenly turned into two giant melons. They felt enormous, heavy, and painfully full. I started developing small scabs on my nipples. Her mouth was tiny, her latch was still shallow, and my nipples were rubbing against the roof of her mouth with every feeding.

And she fed often. Thirty to forty minutes at a time, every two to three hours.

That was the point when I started wondering how I could possibly keep going.

Each time she latched, I closed my eyes and curled my toes in pain. For the first twenty minutes, it felt like a thousand tiny needles.

I remember thinking, Is this ever going to get better? How do other women make this look so natural and effortless?

One day, sitting in pain in my rocking chair while nursing her, I started researching ways to heal sore, cracked nipples. Of all the creams and remedies, the thing that helped me the most was Silverette cups—small silver cups that fit inside your bra. I would express a few drops of breast milk into each cup and place them over my nipples.

Two days later, they were healed.

One problem solved.

But I still had the sharp pain every time she latched.

So we kept practicing. I was determined to make this work. I experimented with different positions until I found the ones that felt best for both of us. I was breathing through the pain with every feeding, praying for relief. And as she grew, her latch improved. With every feeding, we both became a little more skilled. We were learning together.

And, like most things in motherhood, it took time. Around 4 weeks, breastfeeding started to feel easier. That experience reminded me of something motherhood teaches me over and over again: everything is a phase.

When I’m in the thick of it, it can feel endless. But eventually, the fog lifts. And even the difficult moments have a purpose. They stretch me, soften me, and make me more resilient.

Today, breastfeeding is one of my favorite parts of being a mother. I am grateful that my body can nourish my daughter. Watching her little legs grow chubbier and knowing that my milk is helping build her tiny body feels almost miraculous. There is something so beautiful about it, as if we are still one body in some way.

And the quiet nighttime feedings, when the world is asleep and it's just the two of us, are among the moments I will remember when I am eighty years old.

I look down at her, and she looks up at me with my nipple still in her mouth and smiles.

Pure joy.