Nora turns a year old in just a couple of weeks, and like any other mother I am wondering where the time has gone. What happened to my tiny little baby? She is babbling like crazy (she looked right at me and said "Mama" for the first time yesterday), cruising like crazy, eating like crazy, chasing the cat like crazy.

That's all quite a change. In the first few weeks after she was born, the only thing she did like crazy, pretty much, was nurse, much to the detriment of my nipples. I so clearly remember hot mornings in late July, the kind of days when the air conditioning kicked on before 10 a.m., when she was finally asleep after a long and for me painful nursing session, and I—after a much-desired, blissful shower—would lie on the bed, directly under the air-conditioning vent, letting the nipples air-dry in the cool breeze as milk leaked down into my towel, before I applied yet another coat of lanolin. Never has toplessness been less sexy.

In those few weeks, I read the relevant sections of The Nursing Mother's Companion over and over again, as if reading the author's assurances that the soreness would fade after a few weeks would magically make it happen. Maybe it did. It took a little longer than the book said, but I hung in there through the cracks (ow) and the toe-curling moments of latch-on (ow ow) and after about three weeks—well, maybe four—it did go away, and breastfeeding became the reasonably convenient, pleasant bonding experience it is touted as.

Thank goodness it did, too, because, as the New York Times just reported, if I hadn't perservered, a public-service campaign says I might as well have ridden a mechanical bull throughout my pregnancy. Not breastfeeding, it says, is just that risky.

I see several problems with this campaign. First of all, I have no idea where I would find a mechanical bull. Second of all, is riding a mechanical bull the worst thing they could come up with? I mean, Scarlett O'Hara's (no doubt extensively researched) fall-prompted miscarriage to the contrary notwithstanding, from what I've read most falls are fairly unlikely to cause a miscarriage, considering how well the embryo is cushioned.

Third of all, this campaign's message is the biggest load of hypocritical crap I've ever heard, even though it's coming from an administration that specializes in the production of hypocritical crap. Yes, I breastfed exclusively until Nora started on solids, and yes, I was very glad that it worked out to do so. And yes, there are undoubtedly some mothers who don't know about the benefits of breastfeeding and could use some encouragement. But how about providing actual encouragement and support, rather than a heaping helping of condescension, guilt, and glib stupidity?

How about an ad campaign that talks about the positive aspects of breastfeeding? Or one that addresses the real challenges of nursing and offers solutions? Or, maybe, simply acknowledges that many women can't exclusively breastfeed for six months—thanks in no small part to the United States' utterly abysmal social policies around maternity (if you're going back to work after six weeks for financial reasons, is your supply established enough to pump? Do you have the kind of job that will, practically speaking, allow you to pump? Maybe. But probably not.)—but that if you can't (or don't want to) breastfeed exclusively for whatever reason, nursing is still beneficial, even if you can only do it for a short time, or part-time in conjunction with formula.

The all-or-nothing approach seems unbelievably counterproductive, and it does absolutely nothing to address the actual challenges faced by mothers. It sure won't help anyone's milk come in, or un-crack their sore nipples, or magically give their babies a good latch, or even assure them that if they just hang in there a few more weeks things will probably go better. And it doesn't happen to mention that while breastfeeding is optimal, formula will not in fact function as a deadly poison. Perhaps I am reading too much into this campaign, but I can't help but see it as yet another ideologically driven public-health initiative, one that comes with the subtext that mothers should be staying home (not out in the working world, trying to pump) and giving up their lives for their kids.

Not, of course, that breastfeeding has to entail giving up your life. It didn't for me, but then again, I am lucky enough to have a husband with a nontraditional work schedule and a freelance career that I do from home. Nevertheless, full-time breastfeeding entails significant constraints on one's time, energy, and fashion choices. And so, a couple of weeks ago when Nora stopping seeming interested in nursing (refusing one side entirely), and started playfully gnawing on me before every nap, I somewhat reluctantly decided that we are pretty much done. I'm still nursing her once in the morning, when she wakes up—that was the only good feeding she was really having anyway—but that's it, and I'm looking to phase that out in the next few weeks.

When Nora started her mini-nursing strike, I was telling a friend, the mother of a three-year-old, about it, and she broke in immediately: "Carpe diem! Carpe diem!" This was a window of opportunity, she said, and if I didn't go with the self-weaning, it would be much, much harder to wean once I had a willful, nursing-loving toddler on my hands. The thought of that was a good goad, and I'm taking her advice.

At first, I was sad. I was afraid I would miss the cuddles, the closeness, the sight of her contented little face as I bent down. And I do. I can still cuddle her, though—when I can get her to sit still for a minute or two—but you know what I don't miss? Nursing bras. I hate those things. I never found ones I really liked. I don't miss the feeling of needing to eat every two hours and chug water constantly in order not to drop down in dehydrated exhaustion. I can really live without the eight sharp little teeth clamping around my nipple, followed by giggles prompted how hilarious it is when Mama makes that pained face. And I don't miss having to make sure I'm home at her former feeding times every day; it's nice to think that someone else can put her down to sleep, simply by virtue of reading her a story.

Nora has no interest in bottles anymore (though she still loves her pacifier very much), so our pediatrician suggested that we could just go straight to milk in a cup. So we did, and she's quite happy. Yesterday, she and I went out to get lunch from the local taqueria. I had a tostada, and she had beans and rice and a cup of milk. What happened to my tiny little baby? She is turning into a toddler on the go, and I'm watching enjoying the bittersweet pleasures of seeing the remnants of her infancy disappear. Carpe diem.