When I had my son in 1999, I thought I was prepared.

I had read the books. My husband and I took the Bradley Method classes. We learned about the birth process, what to expect, and how to prepare for labor.

At the time, What to Expect When You're Expecting was the book everyone seemed to have, and birth stories were beginning to become something we could hear and see more openly through cable television.

I felt prepared.

We initially planned for a hospital birth, but somewhere along the way, we changed direction. We found a midwife and decided to have a homebirth.

And I had a wonderful birth experience.

My midwife was an incredible resource. She helped me understand what was happening and supported me through the process.

Even chiropractic care during pregnancy was beginning to be talked about more and more. I was in chiropractic school at the time, and I remember that some of my colleagues were still hesitant to adjust me because pregnancy care was not yet something everyone felt comfortable with.

But then my son was born.

And suddenly, I realized something:

I prepared for birth but I did not prepare for postpartum.

I had all the things.

The stroller.

The clothes.

The pacifiers.

All the baby gadgets.

I planned to breastfeed because, in my mind, breastfeeding was natural.

And if something was natural, surely it would come naturally.

Right?

Except it didn't.

My mom had never breastfed, so I didn't have her experience to draw from. My mother-in-law did breastfed and talked about how easy it had been for her.

The midwife helped me with the latch after my son was born. She came back about a week later and checked on us. The latch still looked good.

And then she left.

And life with a newborn began.

At the same time, postpartum depression was beginning to creep in.

Feeding was becoming painful.

But I kept hearing the message that so many mothers heard then:

"Just toughen up your nipples. It will get better."

So I grinned and bore it.

My son also began developing a head tilt. I had him adjusted, and his torticollis started improving with a few chiropractic visits.

But no one talked to me about how his body tension or torticollis might be affecting feeding.

And I didn't even know to ask.

That part is important.

I didn't know what I didn't know.

What questions to ask.

That feeding could be influenced by more than simply whether a baby could "latch."

I didn't know that breastfeeding difficulties weren't necessarily a matter of me trying harder.

And I certainly didn't know how much support a new mother could need after the birth team went home.

By about six weeks, breastfeeding had become incredibly painful.

I dreaded feeding my baby.

Then I developed mastitis.

I had a 104-degree fever and breast pain that was, quite honestly, unbelievable.

I remember my male physician yelling at me to just give my baby a bottle.

But I didn't want to.

I felt like I was failing my son.

I felt like I was a horrible mother.

And somewhere inside my exhausted, postpartum brain, I had started believing something even more painful:

If I couldn't do something as "simple" and "natural" as feeding my own baby, maybe I wasn't worthy of being a mother.

That is how vulnerable postpartum can make us.

Eventually, I tried pumping.

I didn't know that flange sizes mattered.

I didn't understand that pumping wasn't simply, "I'll just pump."

It was work.

A lot of work.

And by then, my milk supply was dropping.

Eventually, I stopped breastfeeding and pumping and began bottle feeding my baby.

And something unexpected happened.

I felt relief.

My baby was happier because he was finally getting a full belly.

I was less stressed because feeding no longer felt like a battle.

And as my stress around feeding began to decrease, other things slowly started coming together.

The postpartum depression didn't disappear overnight.

But I could feed my baby.

And that mattered.

By around six months, the postpartum cloud began to lift, and I started to really enjoy my baby.

I tell you this story because I have heard versions of it thousands of times throughout my career as a pediatric chiropractor.

Different mothers,babies,circumstance.

But the same underlying feelings:

"Why is this so hard?"

"What am I doing wrong?"

"Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Who do I trust?"

"Is my baby okay?"

"Am I okay?"

And this is a huge part of why this work matters so deeply to me.

My own experience helped me understand something that has stayed with me throughout my career:

Parents don't just need information. They need preparation, resources, support, and someone who can help them ask better questions.

That is one of the reasons I became so deeply rooted in the work of the International Chiropractic Pediatric Association, and in the legacy of Larry Webster and Jeannie Ohm.

Their passion for educating families and giving parents resources has always resonated with me.

Through resources like Pathways to Family Wellness, families have been given information about birth, feeding, postpartum, development, and raising children in a way that encourages parents to become informed and engaged in their own decisions.

And today, that feels more important than ever.

Because we have access to so much information.

Hospital birth.

Homebirth.

Birth center birth.

Birth plans.

Doulas.

Postpartum doulas.

Lactation consultants.

Postpartum support groups.

Tongue ties.

Lip ties.

Bodywork.

Chiropractic care.

And then social media enters the picture.

Suddenly, your phone can give you 50 opinions before you've finished your morning coffee.

One person says:

"This is absolutely necessary."

Another says:

"Never do that."

One expert says one thing.

Another expert says the complete opposite.

And you're sitting there holding your newborn thinking:

"Okay...but what is right for MY baby?"

That is where I believe our work becomes so important.

Not because there is one perfect birth.

Or a perfect one feeding method.

Nor one perfect parenting philosophy.

And certainly not because I believe I have every answer.

Rather, I believe families deserve good information, thoughtful assessment, appropriate resources, and the freedom to make informed decisions for themselves and their babies.

My own postpartum experience taught me that the goal isn't perfection.

The goal is support.

It is helping parents understand what they are seeing.Wwhat questions to ask.

It is knowing when something is outside our scope and connecting families with the right professional.

And sometimes, it is simply giving a mother permission to say:

"This isn't working. Let's figure out another way."

Because feeding your baby should never be a measure of your worth as a mother.

I wish someone had told me that in 1999.

And maybe that is one of the reasons I am still doing this work today.

Because I don't want another mother sitting alone at 3 a.m., crying because she thinks she is failing, when what she really needs is someone to say:

"You're not failing. Let's figure this out together."

In Part Two, we're going to talk about something that creates a LOT of questions for parents today:

tongue ties, lip ties, and feeding.

What exactly is a "tie"?

When does it matter?

When doesn't it?

And why is this conversation so much more complicated than simply looking under a baby's tongue and deciding whether or not there is a tie?

Because when it comes to babies and feeding...

It is rarely one-size-fits-all.