Finding Forty

Written by Jane Elliott

I pumped for three months—hard core.

Power pumping. Alarms buzzing. Middle-of-the-night sessions while the rest of the world slept and my baby dreamed beside me. I cried, wanting to give him what had been sold to me as “best.”

For four months, I tried to latch him regularly. And for the next five, we danced an on-and-off rhythm that often felt more like grief than connection.

I felt crazy.

I felt weird.

Why couldn’t we just figure it out?

Sure, money mattered. Formula isn’t cheap. But this wasn’t just about finances. It was about fear. Fear that I was falling short. That I was giving him less than what he deserved. I turned to donor milk, hoping it would bridge the gap—but much of it was bitter, and he often refused it.

Eventually, I stopped.

There was no grand moment. No dramatic exhale or sobbing finale.

Just… space. Quiet. An in-between.

Not overwhelming sadness. Not magical relief.

Just the slow settling into something new.

And as I kept moving forward—one day, one feeding, one surrender at a time—I grew closer to becoming the mother he needed me to be.

I started taking note of his needs, rather than forcing mine.

Watching him, not my plan.

Meeting him where he was, not where I wished he’d be.

That is the most beautiful transformation I’ve experienced:

Seeing him for who he is—not who I hoped he’d be—even as a tiny human.

And offering myself that same grace.

That’s where our bond truly deepens.

Not in the ounces.

Not in the perfect latch.

Not in the expectations I clung to.

But in the gentle unfolding of trust.

In choosing presence over perfection.

And in loving each other through the letting go.

And if you’ve struggled too—even in the midst of success—I want you to know: I’m proud of you.

For the trying.

For the surrender.

For the growth.

Momma, you’re doing the hard things. And you’re doing them beautifully.