The Emotional Journey of Breastfeeding a Baby Who Won’t Latch: A First-Time Mom’s Story

As I write this today, March 25, 2025, I am 49 days into motherhood—and to say it’s been a whirlwind would be an understatement. I even just found out today that the clocks sprang ahead 16 days ago. That about sums up how disoriented I’ve felt lately.

I always imagined becoming a mom would be natural, almost instinctual. Everything I read and heard said that once the baby is born, they cry and then latch onto the breast for their first feed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Well, when my little girl entered the world, her first act wasn’t to latch but to relieve her bladder on me—yes, right there on the delivery table! The whole room burst into laughter, and even through my exhaustion, I chuckled and said, “Oh wow, thanks.”

After my sister proudly cut the cord, the care providers took my baby for routine checks. While I was catching my breath and taking in what had just happened, one of the nurses came to me, beaming, and announced, “Your baby has a long foot!” I laughed along but quietly wondered, “Wait, is that… normal?” It was such an odd but funny observation amid the chaos.

I couldn’t wait to have her in my arms. Her cries were sharp and persistent, and I knew she needed me just as much as I needed her. When they finally handed her to me, I didn’t waste a second—I turned to the delivery nurse and asked, “When do we latch?” That was the one exercise I had longed for, the sacred first moment between mother and child.

Becoming a mom for the first time at 38 had been my dream for years, but nothing could have prepared me about the emotional rollercoaster. I felt overwhelmed, lost, and yet somehow stronger than I’ve ever been.

One of the biggest blessings during this time has been having my sister by my side. Her presence during delivery and the first few days helped me navigate the chaos. And then there was the hospital staff—kind, patient, and reassuring. My delivery nurse in particular became an anchor for me, gently reminding me that every mother-baby journey is different.

I later found out that my daughter had developed a habit of sucking her tongue in the womb, which made latching a challenge. Watching her try, get frustrated, and cry made me feel helpless. There were moments when I even thought, “Does she not like me?”—an irrational thought, but postpartum hormones and sleep deprivation have a way of twisting your emotions.

But slowly, with patience, tiny breakthroughs began to happen. I celebrated every small win, no matter how small. And today was one of those days. She finally relaxed, latched for a while, and drifted into a peaceful sleep in my arms. It was the first time in weeks that I felt that magical connection I had been yearning for.

I often think about how different this experience would have been without support. In Kenya, where I am from, new mothers are cared for deeply in those first few months. We are served black beans, nutritious porridge, tea with milk, and hot chocolate. Our mothers stay with us, guiding us, feeding us, and making sure we recover well and learn to care for our babies. My mom came all the way from Kenya a few weeks after I gave birth, and having her here has been a priceless gift. The culture here in America is different, and I now understand why so many moms feel overwhelmed. I truly wish every new mother could have the kind of support I’ve had.

Whenever I feel like giving up, I hold onto Isaiah 40:31 — “But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.” I take this verse personally. I am walking, I am learning, I am loving—and I am not alone.