Strangers at First Suck: My Early Breastfeeding Journey

Somewhere between baby showers and hospital check-ins, I bought into the fantasy that breastfeeding would be this magical, bonding moment. Cue the violins, right? Instead, what I got was nipple pain, panic sweats, and a baby who looked at me like, “Girl, what are we doing?” Spoiler alert: it took way longer—and way more trial and error—than I expected. So here’s the unfiltered version of how it really started, in case no one told you it’s okay if yours didn’t go like the Pinterest posts either.

I have no clue where this imaginary narrative came from—that when your baby is born, they’ll magically latch and breastfeeding will be this blissful, heartwarming moment. That moment did not happen for me. Not even close.

It felt like daggers—like someone was trying to tear my nipples to shreds—and I wanted to take her off right away.

It took almost two full months before I could regularly breastfeed my daughter directly.

When the lactation consultant walked into the room, she immediately said, “Visually great boobs, but…” and then added that I might have latching issues because of my nipple shape and breast size. Great. Add that to the list.

At first, I thought my daughter’s tongue tie would be the problem—but nope, she was holding onto a pacifier just fine and downing Similac like a champ. That’s when I really started to get in my head.

Normally, big boobs are a good thing—but in this case, I thought I was going to overwhelm my child.

It’s funny—they (the nurses, the consultants) always say, “Stay calm. Don’t try feeding when the baby’s too hungry.” Like that magically makes it easier. LOL.

To my fellow mamas who’ve started their breastfeeding journey (or have been down this road):

You know the hot sweats that hit the second your baby cries. It’s like the world collapses in on you.

And at that point? Just hand over the bottle.

Because having someone scream directly at your boobs?

Not exactly a calming or bonding experience.

Let’s be honest—you and your baby are strangers at first. Yes, you carried them while they stretched your body, wrecked your appetite, and gave you the worst heartburn known to humankind. But even after all that?

You’re still learning each other, and learning how to exist together in this new world.

Expecting instant breastfeeding bliss is like going on one date and expecting to fall in love and get married by dessert. (You would run for the hills, right?)

And another thing—your milk doesn’t come in right away. Did they tell you that part? No?

Cool.

So now your newborn is screaming, your nipples are raw, and nothing’s coming out.

Shoutout to my mom for advocating for me in that moment—that hospital-grade pump was the real MVP. And I’ll be honest: I’d rather deal with the machine than those tiny-yet-terrifying baby “teeth gums.” You know exactly what I mean.

Pumping was a game-changer.

Did it still hurt? Yes. But something about seeing the milk come in and being able to measure my output gave me a lot more comfort.

It helped me produce colostrum and kicked my supply into gear—without the added stress of a crying baby latched to me like a siren. That’s really when my breastfeeding journey began. And eventually, I became an over supplier.

(Hindsight? I should’ve kept my pump schedule consistent. But life happened. Personal stress, family drama, you name it—and my milk supply dipped. I truly feared I wouldn’t be able to provide for my daughter.)

That’s a later chapter.

This post is about the beginning—the messy, sweaty, awkward start.

The part people gloss over in favor of curated nursing photos and Pinterest mommy quotes.

To any new mom reading this:

If breastfeeding didn’t come easy, you are not alone.

It’s a journey—a very personal one.

And it’s okay if it starts with a scream instead of a soft latch.

It’s okay if you were over it right away and opted out.

It’s okay if you chose formula.

Motherhood is not one size fits all.

There’s a reason the saying goes:

It takes a village.