The Little Things That Held Me – My Breastfeeding Essential
It wasn’t just the baby I was holding in those early days —
It was everything.
My breath.
My hope.
My doubts.
And sometimes, a warm mug of tea I never managed to finish.
Feeding her felt like stepping into a world where time slowed down.
And in that stillness, the tiniest comforts — the “little things” —
felt like hands on my back, saying,
“You’re not doing this alone.”
These were my quiet helpers — my breastfeeding essentials:
The Nightlight That Saved My Sanity
I didn’t want the room fully bright.
But I didn’t want to fumble in the dark either.
That little amber nightlight — soft, warm, always there — made 2AM feeds feel less like survival and more like a secret ritual.
I’d nurse her with one arm, sip from my spill-proof tumbler with the other, and let the room glow gently around us.
The Nursing Pillow That Felt Like a Hug
My back hurt more than I admitted.
My wrists ached.
But that U-shaped pillow — soft but firm — lifted her just high enough that I could rest into the moment instead of strain through it.
It was milk-stained and love-soaked by day three, and I refused to wash it for a week.
The Tank Tops I Lived In
Forget bras with too many hooks.
Forget shirts I had to pull up awkwardly.
These nursing tanks — with one-hand clips — became my unofficial mom uniform.
Soft, stretchy, and kind to my changing body.
I wore them under everything. I even slept in them.
Still do.
The Nipple Balm I Didn’t Know I’d Rely On
I thought I might not need it.
Until I did.
Until the sting came, and the cracks whispered “you’re not weak, just new.”
That little jar sat by my bed, by the rocker, in the diaper bag.
I never left it behind again.
The Cooling Pads That Made Me Breathe Again
When it hurt to latch, these were my pause.
Cool, soothing, shaped just right.
I’d place them in the fridge, and they’d be my gentle “you’re healing” reminder.
Even if I was crying — these little pads made me feel cared for.
The App I Used… Then Replaced With Trust
In the beginning, I tracked every feed, every side, every minute.
But slowly, I learned her rhythm.
She didn’t need an app — she just needed me.
Still, that app helped when my brain was foggy and my heart was overwhelmed.
No one claps for the night you nurse for the sixth time.
No one sees the cracked skin or the cold tea or the way your shoulder aches from holding her “just right.”
But the little things?
They see.
They carry.
They whisper: Keep going, Mama. You’re doing it.
I didn’t have a perfect breastfeeding plan.
I had a basket next to my chair.
And in it —
some softness,
some relief,
and just enough comfort
to help me love her with both hands.