I chose to breastfeed for many reasons with my firstborn: It was economical and the healthiest choice, in my opinion, to feed a baby. I was very nervous; I had never really seen anyone nurse before. It was like this special secret that new mommies got to experience, and I could hardly wait for my turn.

The first three days were easy as pie. I thought I was an expert! Then my milk came in and he really started nursing – fiercely. By day five, I was bleeding and scabbed and crying my eyes out every two to three hours. Of course, I was too proud to admit that I needed help. By the end of the first week, I was ready to give up.

"I'm a failure," I said to my husband. It was at that point he looked me straight in the eye and told me, "You wanted to nurse. I know how much this means to you and how important it is for you to not give up. My wife does not give up. She is not a quitter. You need help. Swallow your pride and get it!" That made me cry even harder.

We had our one-week check up the next day. I was dreading it. I knew the doctor was going to ask the question I loathed to hear. "How is the breastfeeding coming along?" I had tried so hard not to cry. I told myself the whole way there that I would not cry. Well, so much for the pep talk! I burst into tears. "It's horrible! I hate it! I can't do it. I am a failure."

She smiled that wonderful doctor smile. You know the one, the one that says, "I've heard your story a million times and it's fixable. Don't worry."

"Ha!" I thought. "You cannot fix this, my nipples look like raisins on the top!" I showed her to even prove my hopelessness. She smiled again. "Penny, we can fix that."

"How?" I asked, thinking, "This ought to be good."

"Your son isn't latching on properly," she said. "All we need to do is get him to latch on the proper way and it's smooth sailing"

"Terrific! How are we supposed to re-train him?" I asked.

The doctor showed us how to get a proper latch. While he was on, I turned to her and said "OK, I know this isn't working. I'm not feeling a thing – no pain."

"You're not supposed to feel any pain," she said. "It should feel good!"

We ended the visit with me in tears – again – and a nice big tube of Bactroban to clear up my raisins and a renewed confidence that maybe, just maybe I wasn't a failure.

At our one-month check-up, we were a completely different pair, my son and me. I was nursing confidently wherever and whenever I wanted. We had done it! We were experiencing breastfeeding bliss. The fact that my body was nurturing and helping this little man to grow was amazing. We had our evening nursing in the bathtub with the lights down low. I looked forward to this time every day. I enjoyed feeding him in the middle of the night. I was proud to show the world that I was a nursing mom.

We nursed happily until he started weaning around 11 months of age. He completely quit on November 13, 1997, exactly two weeks before his first birthday. I will never forget that day; it tore my heart apart. I spent the weekend crying, not because I was depressed. It was because I no longer was "attached" to my baby. At the same time, it was a miracle to watch him branch out and become his own person. Best of all, he made the decision himself.

Now, breastfeeding to me is not a choice, it is a privilege. My special treat for giving birth. Something just for me and my baby to share. It is completely emotional and intimate. Words really cannot explain it. The only way to feel it is to experience it firsthand. I am thankful every moment for my husband who gave me his full support. Without him, I would have been among the many women who never have a wonderful breastfeeding experience.

Want to see more?

• More entries in our Breastfeeding Essay Contest
• Making the Most of The First Nursings
• Starting Out Right
• Sore Nipples
• The Stages of Breastfeeding
• Talk About It!