Yes, I did it: I breastfed for 14 months and three days. If that sounds oddly specific, it is. And yes, this is a post about breastfeeding, so feel free to skip it if it’s not your thing. I didn’t expect to write about it either, but I get a lot of questions and this blog is mainly a memory keeper — a place to record things we might forget, like paint colors, vacation details, and parenting milestones. Nursing Clara for roughly 425 days felt worth documenting, so here’s a clear, honest account of how it felt.
At first I felt deeply grateful. I knew many moms try and can’t nurse, so I felt lucky it worked for us. I was also surprised that it wasn’t nearly as painful as I had feared. I’d heard horror stories about cracked and bleeding nipples, but thanks to a good latch and maybe some favorable genetics, I escaped most of that. (In the interest of full disclosure: I also never had sore breasts during pregnancy, so perhaps those things are connected.) I realize a painless experience can feel like bragging — my best friend still teases me about it — but experiences vary widely, and every mom has her own curveball. For me, the scariest part of early motherhood had actually been Clara’s birth, which made all the other concerns seem smaller by comparison.
I was initially worried Clara wouldn’t take to breastfeeding because I couldn’t nurse her until eight hours after delivery due to complications. I’d read that early nursing is important, and I’d pictured immediate skin-to-skin contact and feeding. But the nurses encouraged us to try when we could, and to my relief Clara latched right away. That felt like a tiny miracle after such an intense birth experience.
After gratitude and relief came exhaustion. Clara slept wonderfully at night from early on — often a 12-hour stretch with only one or two night feedings — but during the day she ate on demand, roughly every two hours. Those frequent daytime feedings made getting household tasks or work done difficult. I appreciated the bonding time and the forced breaks from chores and blogging, but it also felt all-encompassing in those early newborn months. I joke that she let me rest at night and made me work during the day.
One vivid memory: when Clara was six weeks old we took a week-long family vacation and I found myself nursing upstairs while everyone else socialized downstairs. At the time, the idea of doing eight feedings a day while everyone else relaxed felt overwhelming. I tried a nursing cover but Clara wouldn’t accept it, so I retreated to a quiet room for each session. Feedings then were long — about 30 to 40 minutes total — but we still managed to enjoy parts of the trip.
Pumping didn’t work for me, and Clara refused bottles and pacifiers. So for all that time, she nursed directly from me. That arrangement suited our family because I was home with her, but it meant I was rarely away from her for more than an hour or two. With a face as sweet as hers, I didn’t mind.
By about three months I settled into a rhythm and began to feel content and more confident in our routine. I could nurse practically anywhere — a parked car, a dressing room, even backstage at a taping — and it no longer seemed like an impossible task. As Clara got older, feedings became more efficient; by six to eight months many lasted only 10 to 15 minutes. Introducing solid foods at six months didn’t reduce her desire to nurse; she continued to nurse as often as before, which relieved my worries about my supply dropping.
For the first ten months I nursed roughly every two hours during the day because Clara insisted on it. She was an unusually solid night sleeper, which meant she needed to “tank up” while awake. That intense daytime schedule felt normal to me, even if it seemed frequent compared to friends who were spacing feedings farther apart. Around ten months she began stretching to three-hour intervals, and that single extra hour felt like newfound freedom.
Nursing became something I enjoyed: a moment of connection, a way to step away from projects, and a tiny contributor to getting back into some pre-baby clothes (though my body hasn’t quite returned to what it was, and that’s fine). I’ve always respected other parents’ choices around feeding; what works for one family may not work for another, and I don’t judge different approaches.
When Clara turned one, we introduced whole milk but she wouldn’t drink it from a sippy cup. After trying many cups and mixing strategies, our pediatrician suggested almond milk as a transitional taste and texture; that worked. We slowly mixed almond with whole milk until she accepted 100% whole milk around 13 months. Once she transitioned, her nursing sessions dropped dramatically — from about five times a day to just once in the morning and once at bedtime.
That shift felt liberating and bittersweet. Suddenly I had time for small outings, date nights, and uninterrupted evenings — freedoms we hadn’t had for over a year. But I also missed the quiet morning routine when we would lie down together and nurse at the start of the day. Nursing on your side while lying down was a comforting, intimate ritual taught to me after my C-section, and letting it go felt like closing a special chapter.
Two weeks after that transition Clara stopped wanting her morning feeding altogether. I felt a mix of sadness and pride — sad because a sweet ritual had ended, proud because I’d breastfed for over 14 months and grateful because nursing for that long or at all is not something everyone can do. It was an amazing, exhausting, surprising journey, full of small triumphs and adjustments.
So that’s our breastfeeding story: a long, rewarding experience that taught me patience, gratitude, and how quickly the little things change. I’m thankful for every moment, even the tiring ones, and I love my daughter fiercely — even if she’s no longer interested in nursing.