Yup, that’s what I did. Well, technically 14 months and three days if you’re counting. And yes, this really is a post about breastfeeding, so feel free to skip it (I’m looking at you, brother). I never expected to write about it, but I get a lot of questions and this blog serves as a place to remember the details we might otherwise forget—like paint colors, vacations, and apparently breastfeeding. After nursing for around 425 days straight, it seemed worth sharing the range of emotions that came with the experience. So here we go.
My first feeling was gratitude. I was so thankful it worked. I’m aware that some moms try and still can’t breastfeed, so I didn’t take it for granted. I was also pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t nearly as painful as I’d feared. I’d heard horror stories about cracked and bleeding nipples, but thanks to a good latch (or luck) I avoided most of that. I also didn’t have sore breasts during pregnancy, so maybe those things are related. I know it can sound like bragging to say it wasn’t painful—my best friend teases me about it—but given my difficult birth experience, I’ll take small mercies wherever they come.
Because of the complications during birth, I couldn’t nurse Clara until eight hours after she arrived. I’d heard that early nursing helps, so I was nervous. Not having that immediate skin-to-skin nursing I’d imagined was jarring, but the nurses encouraged us to try and, miraculously, Clara latched right away. That was a huge relief.
After gratitude and pleasant surprise came exhaustion and overwhelm. Clara slept through much of the night—about 12 hours—from the start, waking for one or two feedings. Once our doctor cleared her weight gain, we were able to let her sleep without waking her every three hours. The downside was daytime feedings: she wanted to nurse every two hours on the dot during the day. Feeding on demand meant I stopped what I was doing repeatedly, which was limiting. I loved the closeness and the break from chores that nursing gave me, but in those early newborn months it felt all-encompassing and tiring. I joked that she let me rest at night but made me work during the day.
I remember a week-long family vacation when Clara was six weeks old. I sat upstairs nursing in a bedroom while everyone else was downstairs socializing. I thought, “I’m going to excuse myself about eight times a day while everyone else hangs out—that’s 56 feedings in seven days.” It felt overwhelming. I wished feeding in public or in front of family were more accepted—Clara refused a nursing cover—so I spent time sequestered, with John dropping in now and then to keep us company. Back then feedings were slow—around 15–20 minutes per side—so I spent a significant portion of the day tethered to nursing, but we still enjoyed the trip.
Two practical notes: pumping didn’t work well for me, and Clara never took to bottles or pacifiers. So breastfeeding remained the primary source for her nutrition. That worked because I could be home with her, but it also meant I was rarely away from my daughter for more than an hour or two for over a year. That level of togetherness was intense, but with a face like hers, I was more than okay with it.
By about three months I settled into a rhythm and felt content and accepting. Nursing had become routine and convenient enough that I could nurse in odd places—a parked car or a dressing room—and still manage other parts of life. I even nursed in the green room while taping the Nate Berkus show, right before and after going on air. That felt surreal but doable.
By six to eight months, feedings became more efficient—often only 10–15 minutes total. Introducing solids at six months didn’t reduce Clara’s desire to nurse; she still wanted to nurse as much as before. I was relieved because I’d worried that solid food would disrupt my production.
Up until ten months old, Clara insisted on nursing every two hours during the day. That’s 300 days of two-hour daytime nursing, not counting the night. My doctor was fine with it, and it made sense given that she slept long stretches at night. That pattern meant shorter daytime naps and frequent feedings to “tank up” during waking hours in exchange for uninterrupted nights. I was happy with that trade-off.
Happily, at around ten months she began stretching feedings to every three hours—an extra hour felt like freedom. I moved into a phase of really enjoying breastfeeding: grateful, proud, and content. It helped me step away from work and chores, saved us money, and felt like a special way to connect with Clara. I’m a breastfeeding enthusiast for us, but I don’t judge other parents—do whatever works for your family.
When Clara turned one, we introduced whole organic cow’s milk, and she refused it. She wouldn’t take bottles either, so our doctor suggested trying sippy cups. Water in a sippy was fine, but she wouldn’t drink milk—no matter the temperature or cup type. We even tried almond milk on the doctor’s suggestion; she accepted it, probably because its thinner consistency was closer to breast milk. Over a month we gradually mixed almond and whole milk until she transitioned to 100% whole milk at about 13 months. She’s stubborn like her mom.
Once she accepted milk, her nursing dropped dramatically—from about five times a day to two: once in the morning and once before bed. That change felt liberating but also bittersweet. Morning nursing had been a special, relaxed way to start the day—nursing on your side while lying down is wonderful—and when she stopped wanting it I felt sad. At the same time I felt proud and grateful. I’d breastfed for over 14 months, which is something I didn’t take for granted.
Two weeks after the morning feedings tapered off, Clara no longer wanted them at all. It’s emotional to watch that phase end. My current feelings are a mix of sadness—because I’ll miss the closeness—and pride and gratitude—because we made it so far together. Nursing was an amazing, exhausting, surprising journey and I’m thankful I experienced it.
So that’s my breastfeeding story. Off to cry now (and I can’t even blame hormones). It was an awesome, exhausting, amazing, and tiring journey that I’m grateful to have had. Love you, baby girl—no matter how independent you become.