Breastfeeding — it’s how we feed our infants when their bodies are still shifting from the womb to the world. It’s often debated about, gawked at, and frowned upon when done in public. But, it’s nature and motherhood in their most natural state. 

My breastfeeding story is different than most.

I didn’t struggle to produce milk, and my infant latched on just fine (with a nipple shield for the first month). I wasn’t forced to pump and go back to a job. I was able to stay home with my son and nurse him on demand. 

Instead of dealing with these struggles, I mourned my husband. I cried every 5 minutes and wondered why God made me a widow with an infant. I envied moms who complained about common postpartum issues. 

The night Justin died, I got no sleep.

Mom and I sat in two recliners and stared at the ceiling tiles. Jax cried all night long. I can’t remember how many times I nursed him that night because mom would just bring him to me and stick him on my boob. Before Jax was born, I was so excited to breastfeed. It was something that I took very seriously. But the night of Justin’s death, I was ready to quit. The task seemed too large. 

But then, two days later, something happened.

I realized that my son needed me and, even more so, I needed him. I decided to make nursing him my short-term goal. Instead of looking at it as an impossible task, it became my purpose. God spared me so my body could nourish this child. So that’s what I did. 

I breastfed Jax for 20 months. To some, that might seem too long, but for us, it was normal. I’ll admit, it was hard to stop because nursing him, somehow, made me feel close to Justin. 

Bonus Story

Eventually, I did have to pump and go back to work. But I wasn’t pumping in an office, I was pumping in an SUV while 1,000 music fans waited for my band to return from a break. That’s right; I pumped on tour. That’s an entirely different story for next year.