The journey of 600 days breastfeeding Luna is a milestone I never set out to reach. I didn’t count the days until recently, when curiosity nudged me to check. What I found was a number that felt sacred, a quiet testament to our bond. Having an exclusively breastfed baby is not easy, but in my experience has been so worth it.
Yesterday, I sat on the beach with my friend Emily as Luna wandered around, tasting shells (sigh). She climbed into my lap and asked for “Tetita.” After one side, she pointed to the other: “More tetita.” I smiled and obliged. This is our thing, our check‑in, our comfort, our joy. Then came the bite. A cheeky laugh. And just like that, the feeding ended. I know we’re nearing the end. I’m dancing between grief and the quiet reclaiming of my body after 600 days of breastfeeding.
The first 24 hours after birth taught me more than I ever expected. Babies’ stomachs are tiny, and colostrum truly is enough to fill them. I didn’t know how to do it, and Luna didn’t know either. While I was figuring everything else out, spoon‑feeding became a lifeline. I was producing milk, but she wasn’t taking it. Keeping that production going was essential, so pumping became part of the rhythm right away. Staying calm was its own challenge. I cried so much. Leaning on practices I had built over the years felt difficult, but kicked in naturally. I also had a strong support system and practiced saying a radical, unapologetic “no” to anything that didn’t align. I felt we had to conquer this, and we did.
Practical tools made a huge difference, especially since I didn’t want to jump into formula. The right manual pump, access to donor’s milk (thank you, Molly), the right flange size, nipple cream, nipple shields, and honestly, Amazon Prime so I didn’t have to send my sweet man to the store trying to decode breastfeeding gear. I hated the positions, and the Boppy never worked for me for this purpose. And I’ll be honest, the lactation consultant made me feel like I was being graded every time she came. But once Luna and I figured out our own way to latch, we adapted and kept going.
There’s so much guilt, fear, and pressure in those early days. Every mother is making the best choices for her baby and her circumstances in the postpartum blur. I wasn’t ready to give up, even when it felt impossibly hard. My sweet midwife connected me with resources, validated my feelings, and reminded me that Luna was going to be okay. We had multiple tools in the box to try before going into formula. My man made sure I was nourished constantly and spoon‑fed me at times, so I could keep my energy up and maintain my supply. He was my rock from day 1. Looking back, I wish I’d had more awareness of the realities that can unfold after birth. I truly thought breastfeeding would be plug‑and‑play, and it wasn’t.
I proudly celebrate these 600 days of breastfeeding as my bond continues to grow with my girl. There is truly no place I haven’t breastfed, and honestly, that’s okay. I’ve fed this child in every scenario imaginable: on planes, in bathrooms, on floors, mid‑meal, mid‑cry, mid‑laugh, half‑asleep, fully asleep, and once while answering the door like it was the most normal thing in the world. Covered, uncovered (let’s be real, 99% uncovered), and I wouldn’t trade a single moment. Now, I’m slowly weaning her on my own timeline. I’m grieving the end of our sacred bond, and at the same time, stepping into a new phase of motherhood. One where I serve the life I delivered in new ways. One where I reclaim myself.