Maybe an Overshare but This is the Real Story of My Babies, a Mother’s Reflections on Breastfeeding, Birth, Loss, and Love
Welcome to the Show
Sometimes when I write, I feel like you’re getting a front-row seat to my vulnerabilities—but welcome to the show.
My friend recently asked me to explain what I meant when I said I regretted weaning my baby early—from breastfeeding at seven months. She never breastfed her children and genuinely wanted to understand what that experience looked like for me. So, here we go. This is about to get real and personal.
Let me say upfront: I don’t care if you nursed your babies or not. I know you can love your child unconditionally, regardless. I just want to share my story and what the experience was like for me.
The Dream: What I Imagined Motherhood Would Be
I’m a bit of a dreamer—probably a weakness. I often imagine what my life should look like and how things are supposed to go. Since I was a little girl, I dreamed of three things:
- Having a big family
- Holding my babies all the time
- Living the dream (happy baby, happy life)
And, in many ways, I almost got what I wanted—just with a few hiccups along the way.
As I got older, my dreams became more specific. But what in life that’s truly worthwhile ever comes easily? The more I get to know people, the more I realize no one’s life ever goes exactly as planned.
The Hiccups: Real-Life Detours on the Journey
Let’s start with the hard parts. Because, let’s be real—this part is tough, and I want to get through it.
1. Unrelenting Morning Sickness
The first hiccup: my pregnancies came with endless nausea and vomiting. Hyperemesis gravidarum is real! Thank goodness for modern medicine. It was exhausting. But hey, we can endure almost anything when there’s a baby waiting for us at the end, right?
2. My First Miscarriage
After William, I had my first miscarriage. I wasn’t prepared for it. How do you grieve for a baby you’ve never met and only carried for eight weeks? I don’t know—but my heart broke. I ached in a way I hadn’t known was possible.
3. Preterm Labor at 24 Weeks
The third hiccup came with Phillip—preterm labor that started at just 24 weeks. It was unexpected and terrifying. I could handle the discomfort, but the overwhelming fear of losing him consumed me.
To manage the labor, they put me on a terbutaline pump. It was basically an insulin pump that delivered small doses of medicine continuously to calm the contractions. I carried that burden until 36 weeks. As soon as they took me off it, the contractions came every three minutes. They didn’t stop—but also didn’t do any good.
After a few long days in the hospital, they delivered him via C-section. He was perfect. But this was the start of hiccup number four.
My Battle with Expectations
There’s absolutely nothing wrong with C-sections or formula feeding. But I had envisioned a different journey: natural childbirth and nursing my babies for as long as I wanted.
David was my easiest pregnancy. I was still sick, but it was manageable. I was able to manage my preterm labor without much help. I had convinced my doctor to allow a VBAC—a vaginal birth after a C-section—and everything seemed to be falling into place.
I even went into labor on my own. I was thrilled.
But after 12+ hours of contractions and no progress, the risk became too high. So, David was born via another C-section. And I felt like a failure. I probably should explain here why I wanted natural delivery so much. Although recovery was so much easier, it was more than that. I wanted the immediate bonding with my baby that happens after natural delivery. I wanted the independence of health with a quick recovery. After 9 months of needing so much help, I wanted to be the helper. Postpartum depression hit me hard. We cried together every night for months. I didn’t want to be in pain for eight weeks after delivery. I compared myself constantly to other moms who seemed to bounce back effortlessly. I resented it.
Maybe that’s why, at seven months, Tim suggested I wean David so we could take a vacation. I agreed—but I regretted it.
What I Lost When I Weaned
Don’t get me wrong—I loved having three little boys. They brought me so much joy. But I got caught in the “what if” loop.
After weaning David, I felt robbed—of connection, of bonding time, of the quiet moments only he and I shared. Nursing a baby is forced downtime. You slow down, you hold them, you look into their eyes, you caress their cheeks, you sing to them. In the chaos of life, nursing becomes sacred: a slow-down-and-see-me moment.
I missed it deeply.
Did it make me love David any less? Absolutely not. Did it damage our relationship? No. But I still grieved that lost time.
The Anxiety and the Grief
Then came a new fear: that the doctor would tell me I couldn’t have any more children before I felt ready to stop. People with the best of intention way would say, “oh, you can only have 3 c-sections”. I lived in quiet anxiety. Most people had no idea. I wore a smile convincingly.
During that time, I had two more miscarriages, and then came my first daughter. The emotional contrast was staggering—grief followed by unimaginable joy. I was still carrying the weight of loss even as I held this beautiful new life in my arms.
Then, heartbreak struck again—two more miscarriages. Ironically I would know I had lost my babies because the unending sickness would leave. The torture would go away. How is it possible for relief to feel like a burden? It absolutely did! All 4 of these miscarriages were at 12 weeks and each one took a piece of my heart. Once again, healing followed with the birth of my second daughter. It was a season of life that was layered with pain and joy, mourning and celebration. Some days I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and others I felt like my heart would burst with gratitude.
Eventually, we were blessed with 2 more daughters, blessedly they were born without more loss. Sami was the youngest of them, and she would become our grand finale.
Sami: My Grand Finale
But at 27 weeks, things took a turn. I ended up hospitalized. It was terrifying at first, but as we made it day by day, we felt more hopeful.
Finally at 33 weeks, the doctor said it was time.
Just before the surgery, one of the doctors told me I would not be able to nurse Sami. “Your body won’t produce milk after the trauma,” she said.
I was devastated—but then a surge of fierce determination hit me.
“You don’t know that,” I replied.
I had placenta accreta. My placenta had grown through my uterus and attached to my bladder. They had no idea how bad the damage was until they opened me up. They were ready for blood transfusions.
They had to make a vertical classical incision, starting above my belly button. It was not because they wanted to, but because the placenta had spread so far that it was the only safe place to cut. The incision had to be longer than expected just to reach the small area of my uterus that hadn’t been overtaken by placenta. That was the only space they could safely deliver Sami.
Sami weighed just 4 lbs. 6 oz.
Then came a couple hours of reconstruction. I learned that the bladder peels like an orange—and thankfully, the placenta hadn’t gone through all the layers. I “only” had to wear a catheter for a couple of weeks. Sami stayed in the NICU for three.
But I was determined. I pumped every three hours, day and night, for three weeks. Eventually, my milk came in and when Sami’s sucking reflex developed we did just fine.
I nursed her for a year.
She was my miracle. My tender mercy. My beat-the-odds baby.
What I’ve Learned: Grace Over Expectations
Looking back, I see now—I was focused on the wrong things. I wish I could have just savored the blessings, but I can now!
People said hurtful things over the years. If I could gently correct them now, I would. Here a just a couple…
“I could never do that. That’s why God would never do that to me.”
Trust me—I didn’t want to either, but I sure learned a lot!
“People who have C-sections can’t bond with their babies.”
I promise, I love my children with every fiber of my being. There is nothing further from the truth!
Every mother does it differently. There’s no single right way. We all have expectations, and things rarely unfold as planned.
That’s part of the learning process.
The Heart of It All
This is just the story of my babies.
Don’t even get me started on raising teenagers—that’s a whole new chapter, and I’m still neck-deep in learning that lesson. But what I do know is this:
I love them fiercely.
I want them to thrive and find joy along the way. Life is full of speed bumps. I’ve learned seven different ways to do it—and each was right in some ways and wrong in others.
Each of my children is unique. But more than anything else, what they need—and what every child needs—is to be loved.
Do you have any parenting regrets? Share below, we can learn and grow together!
Make Home a Place He Wants to Be
My First Trip Away from My Kids (the post I talk about weaning David early)
How I Stopped Dreading Mother’s Day
