How it Started: Part 2
Here we go! I was scheduled for a C-section because my son was breech. If you don’t know what that means (because I didn’t until they told me), it means that my son’s head was still up and his feet were down. (There are different versions of breech, but this was how my son was positioned.)
I showed up at the hospital and—wouldn’t you know it—he was head down, feet up! At this point, the doctor was ready to discharge me and send me home to wait for my water to break. The only problem was, there was a chance he could become breech again, and then I would have to have an emergency C-section. She gave me the option to either induce labor or go home and wait. I looked at my husband and asked, “What do you think we should do?”
Our healthcare system is definitely not the best when it comes to pregnant/new moms and postpartum care. I had transitioned jobs from a clinic back to the ER because a five-day workweek just didn’t fit with our family life—being able to afford daycare, picking up the kids from school, etc. Working in the ER allows me to work a full-time job in just three days. However, because I hadn’t been at my ER job for a full year, I wasn’t eligible for any kind of short- or long-term disability or maternity leave.
So, I had almost one month of PTO saved up to take off once my son was born. Since I was scheduled for a C-section, I told my job, “Start my PTO—I’M HAVING A BABY!” Only to be told that I could go home and wait. But if I did that, I would lose precious time to spend with my son after he was born. We decided to induce. This way, I wouldn’t potentially have to be rushed in for an emergency C-section if he became breech again, and I could maximize my time with my son. I had only one month—four weeks—to bond with my newborn. I was not going to waste a single second.
They came in and got me ready to be induced. Twenty-something hours, ten manual exams (that was rough—the fourth nurse said I was 6 cm dilated, only for the doctor to come in and say I was only 4 cm), a Harry Potter movie marathon, and three pushes later—my son was born!
(Fun fact: the same doctor who delivered my baby girl ten years earlier was the same one who delivered my son! He wasn’t supposed to deliver either time.)
I was so exhausted. They immediately put this little hot, slimy, 7-lb ball on my chest, and I was in love. He was so tiny and crying, and I was crying. The emotion that gets released after pushing a baby out is indescribable. It’s a feeling you can only know... if you know.
This time, they let me hold him for a while—they said they could do all the other things later. I’m so happy they let me keep him because, for some reason, I was terrified something bad would happen. That someone would steal him, or he’d get switched with another baby—anything.
Then they asked if I planned on breastfeeding. I said, “Yes, I’m going to try,” even though I couldn’t get my daughter to latch when she was a baby. The nurses helped and gave me nipple shields and nipple creams. The lactation consultant came in as well, but she told me I was “odd-shaped” (once again) and to just keep trying.
I went home with my newborn baby boy. Let me tell you—I was a wreck (on the inside; I was trying to keep it together). I was so scared during the drive home, terrified a car would hit us and something would happen to my son. Hormones and new mom anxiety are no joke!
My other kids were being taken care of by family—so thankful! We finally made it home, and I was on my own (in terms of breastfeeding). I had no idea what I was doing because, again, no one told me how to build supply. It wasn’t until later that I found all these breastfeeding support groups on Facebook. Thankfully, I didn’t give up. I breastfed when he was hungry and manually pumped when I started to feel full. But there was no real rhyme or reason to anything I was doing—except to feed the baby when he was hungry.
I was so sleep-deprived and angry—at myself, at my husband (even though there was nothing he could do). I was mad that he wasn’t in this like I was... being tortured by a small baby and feeling like my only purpose in life now was to be a cow. I was mad at my son, too. I just wanted to sleep—and I wanted him to sleep! My nipples were cracked and bleeding, but I was just supposed to suck it up because this was “the miracle” of being able to have and feed a baby. That’s what my body was made to do... and at that moment, I hated that fact.
When I wasn’t feeding him, I was using a manual pump to get out tiny amounts. I think the first time I pumped I got 15 mL, and I was so proud. Little did I know, I should’ve been getting much more.
I called my insurance because my OB told me I could get a free pump through them. I picked out the pump I wanted, and they said, “Okay, just get a note from your OB and have them fax it to us.” I called the OB, they said okay and faxed it over. I waited about a week and called the insurance to get an update because I was at my wits' end. The insurance said they never received the note. WHAT?! So I called the OB, and they confirmed it had been faxed and had proof. It was a game of tag. I was SO, SO FRUSTRATED! Why is this how the system works?
I was struggling so hard that I was slowly coming to the decision that I was going to quit breastfeeding. It was taking such a toll on me mentally—I couldn’t do it anymore.
One morning, I was getting ready to run some errands. I opened the door, and there was a huge box on the doorstep. We get Amazon packages all the time, so I figured it was something my husband ordered, but it had my name on it. I opened it up and—voilà! My industrial pump. (Pink Spectra.)
It was clunky and only worked if it was plugged into the wall, but I didn’t care one bit! I was so thrilled. I cleaned all the parts and tried it out. NO PAIN! Or at least, not much—just some lingering discomfort from trying to breastfeed—but it was magical. The milk was pouring!
I can’t tell y’all how amazing it felt to no longer be in pain—and to actually be getting ounces of milk. I sent pictures to my husband of my milk bottles.
Once one problem is solved, it feels like there's always another one waiting. Oh, how true that was.
After struggling to breastfeed, I made the decision to stop and started exclusively pumping. I was no longer in pain, and I could make bottles. Problem solved, right? Not quite.
Now the issue was finding time to pump. We have four kids. At the time, they were 10, 6, 5, and a newborn. My 6- and 5-year-olds are my stepkids, and they didn’t know I had been breastfeeding. I would isolate in my bedroom to pump. While I was trying to pump, my husband was taking care of the kids, and our son would get hungry. He’d ask, “Why don’t you just breastfeed him?”
As if I hadnt tried that for a month in utmost pain.
Y’ALL. I love my husband to death, but when he said things like that... I wanted to throat punch him. After all the pain, frustration, and effort I’d put into finding a solution, the last thing I needed was someone questioning it.
Meanwhile, we had a crying newborn, and the house was loud and chaotic—level 10 out of 10 at all times. I’d lock myself in the bedroom to pump just an ounce, while my husband fed him that and I kept trying to pump. I wasn’t an oversupplier, so I didn’t have a freezer stash. I felt overstimulated and overwhelmed. I wanted to give up and just cry.
Sometimes, I didn’t even have time to pump. My husband would be bathing the kids or handling bedtime, and I had to hold the baby. I tried pumping on one side while holding him, but he wouldn’t stay still or would cry, and milk would spill because I couldn’t hold the bottle right.
(If you’re a “just-enougher” like me, you know how crucial it is to catch every single drop.)
There were so many little things piling up. I was ready to quit—again.
At our doctor’s visit, we learned our son wasn’t gaining enough weight. The doctor recommended we start supplementing.
I felt like a failure.
Why couldn’t I be like those moms who breastfed effortlessly and had deep freezers full of milk?
We began supplementing with formula—Similac Sensitive (in case you’re wondering). He couldn’t keep down the regular kind, so this one helped.
Since pumping was such a struggle, I decided to give breastfeeding one more try, this time with a nipple shield to see if it would help with the pain. To my surprise—it worked! I think my body had toughened up, and my skin had adjusted. Milk would puddle in the shield and get wasted, though. So I braved it: I took the shield away... and it didn’t hurt.
I was so relieved—I finally found a solution.
From then on, I breastfed at home, pumped at work, and my husband gave formula when there wasn’t enough milk. I never built up a stash—and to this day, I’m still jealous of moms who did—but we had a rhythm.
After all the chaos, I could finally breathe again.
I could give my son the nutrients and immunity from breastmilk, and even though we needed to supplement, I was okay with that. He was fed, healthy, and growing. A year and a half later, we were still going strong!
I had originally planned to stop breastfeeding at the one-year mark. But it was the only peaceful way to get him to sleep, so I decided to continue a little longer.
Knowing the end of our journey was approaching, I started thinking of a way to commemorate everything we’d been through. The late nights, the tears, the cuddles—I wanted something to symbolize my strength and determination.
I looked into breastmilk jewelry kits, but nothing felt right. After tons of research, I began experimenting with keepsakes using my own milk. Some worked, some didn’t. But eventually, I started making beautiful keepsakes for myself.
And then I thought: Maybe other moms would love this too.
I started making sales. I couldn’t believe it—other moms believed in my product and loved it. It meant so much to me, knowing what it represented.
After everything I’d gone through, I understood how precious these pieces could be. I told myself: If I can earn enough to cover costs and build a business, I’ll go all in.
Of course, I had moments of doubt. I’d cry to my husband when sales were slow. “What if I fail?” I’d ask.
And he’d say, “I support you, and I believe in you.”
He really knows how to make a girl feel better.
Then, it happened—I got a big order. I finally had enough money to create my LLC. In July 2024, Nurture and Adorn LLC was born.
In August 2024, I booked a marketing photoshoot in Las Vegas with a mom who had purchased one of my rings. I knew this trip would mark the end of my breastfeeding journey. I would be gone for three days, and my son would have to adjust to Dad handling everything.
We were going cold turkey—together.
Before I left, I fed him one last time. I couldn’t cry then. But telling you this now? I’m heartbroken.
I knew it had to end. I knew I was ready. But I still had to grieve it.
Just like I lacked information when starting my breastfeeding journey, there was even less support or guidance on how to stop.
In Vegas, I was in pain. I massaged milk out in the shower. I didn’t take a pump or even a manual one. I wish I had saved that milk, but I was so uncomfortable and just trying to get through it.
After those three days, it was over.
My breastfeeding journey had come to an end.
But something beautiful was born from it—a business rooted in struggle, strength, and love. I turned my pain into purpose. I now help other moms honor their journeys through handcrafted keepsakes that tell a story—their story.
If you're a mama walking through your own version of this—whether you're in the thick of it or nearing the end—please know this:
You are not alone. You are doing an amazing job. And your story matters.
All I can think is how grateful I am to have my keepsakes. I even made my husband three or four rings from my breastmilk. After everything I went through on this journey, I can’t imagine reaching the end and having nothing tangible to hold onto.
Yes, I have my healthy baby boy—and that is everything. But I also needed something for me—to honor and cherish this incredible gift I was given. To see just how strong and resilient I truly am. And now, I have the privilege of giving that same honor to other moms—to help them celebrate their own unique journeys.
If you made it this far, thank you. Your support means the world to me. I couldn't make this dream a reality without it.
With love,
Erica R. Cottingham
