I breastfed my daughter for 14 months and three days. I never expected to write about it, but so many readers have asked, and this blog is where we record things we don’t want to forget. Since I spent roughly 425 days nursing straight, I thought it was worth sharing the emotional ups and downs of the experience, from gratitude and surprise to exhaustion and eventual bittersweet pride.
My first reaction was relief and gratitude. I know many mothers want to breastfeed and can’t, so I felt lucky when it worked for us. I expected lots of pain—I’d heard horror stories about cracked and bleeding nipples—but my experience was far less painful than I feared. Whether that was good latch technique, favorable genetics, or luck, I never had the intense discomfort I’d anticipated. I also didn’t have sore breasts during pregnancy, which may have helped.
Because complications during delivery meant I didn’t nurse until eight hours after she was born, I was anxious that breastfeeding wouldn’t take. I’d imagined baby-on-my-chest moments right away, but that wasn’t possible in our case. Thankfully, with the nurses’ guidance, my daughter latched on quickly and confidently, which was a huge weight off my shoulders.
For a good while, my dominant feelings were exhaustion and overwhelm. At night she slept an incredible 12 hours straight fairly early on, waking only once or twice. That blessing came with a daytime cost: she wanted to nurse every two hours while awake. Feeding on demand meant my days were punctuated constantly with nursing sessions. I loved the bonding and the built-in breaks from chores and work, but it was all-encompassing during those foggy newborn months.
I remember one weeklong family vacation when she was six weeks old: while everyone else socialized downstairs, I sat upstairs nursing in a bedroom, mentally tallying the dozens of feedings I’d need to do over the week. I tried nursing covers but she refused them, so privacy was hard to come by. Back then each feeding could take 30–40 minutes, and at times that felt isolating. Still, we made the most of our time together and enjoyed the trip.
Two practical realities shaped our routine: pumping wasn’t a good fit for me, and she never took a bottle or a pacifier. That meant nearly every feeding for more than a year came straight from me. It worked because I had the flexibility to stay home, but it also meant I was rarely out of reach for very long.
By about three months I settled into a groove and felt content and accepting. Breastfeeding didn’t feel like such a monumental task anymore; I could manage it in a parked car, a dressing room, or a TV studio green room before a short taping. As she got older, feedings became quicker and more efficient—by six to eight months many sessions were only 10–15 minutes total.
Introducing solids at six months didn’t reduce her desire to nurse. She loved solid food from the start, but breastfeeding remained an important part of her routine. For a long time she still wanted to nurse every two hours during the day, which surprised some friends who were spacing feedings farther apart, but our pediatrician reassured us that her unusual nighttime sleep pattern explained it: she slept long stretches at night, so she needed to make up calories by nursing more often during the day.
After she turned ten months, she began stretching feedings to every three hours, and that extra hour felt like newfound freedom. I started to appreciate breastfeeding not only as nourishment but as a calming, connecting ritual that gave me a break from other tasks. I also appreciated the practical benefits: it saved money and helped me return to my pre-pregnancy clothing sooner.
At twelve months we introduced whole milk, and that transition proved tougher than I expected. She refused bottles and at first wouldn’t drink milk from a sippy cup. After trying many sippy cups and mixing strategies, almond milk—at our pediatrician’s suggestion—worked because its thinner consistency was closer to breast milk. We weaned onto whole milk gradually, and by 13 months she was drinking it exclusively. That shift coincided with a dramatic drop in nursing: from about five times a day down to two, and within weeks to just once in the morning, then finally none.
When she first reduced feedings I felt thrilled and free—my husband and I could go out for a movie or dinner without worrying about finding a nursing spot. But I also felt a surprising sadness. Nursing had been our private ritual, especially those mornings lying down together to nurse and relax. Letting go of that felt like losing a small piece of our daily intimacy.
In the end my dominant emotions are pride and gratitude. I breastfed for over 14 months—something that wasn’t guaranteed—and I’m proud of the commitment it required. It was an awesome, exhausting, surprising journey that brought a lot of closeness. I’m a strong supporter of breastfeeding when it works for a parent and a child, but I also respect that every family finds the solution that fits them best. Whatever works for your family is the right choice.
So that’s our breastfeeding story: a mix of relief, work, joy, and nostalgia. I’ll miss those quiet moments, but I’m grateful for the time we had and for the way it helped shape our bond.