Sometime last Saturday was the last time Little G nursed. As far as I can tell it was the last time EVER. Today he didn’t even try to go there.
And now, I am crying.
It’s the end of something that at first I wasn’t even sure I wanted.
The end of something I realized I wanted to fight for and worked hard to make happen.
The end of something that for a while there, I never thought I could keep doing.
The end of something so good and special and perfectly designed that I can’t believe it’s done.
The end of an era.
I didn’t nurse The B Man because it just didn’t work out for a myriad of reasons. Because of that and other factors I really wanted it to work the second time around. And it did and so well and wonderfully (well, except for that nasty
bout with mastitis).
But then today, it hit me.
I won’t ever hold him across my lap as he stares up at me with his ashen eyes while I stroke his soft blond hair and cherish our time together, just the two of us…
But really, who am I kidding? The kid was basically doing calisthenics on me at this point while taking his 5 minutes to soothe himself cause honestly, not much of anything was coming out of there anymore.
Not to mention, he was down to just one side (I weaned him off the other one a while ago) and I am physically quite ready to be finished.
But emotionally it may take me a few days to cope with the fact that WE are DONE with what I do believe is one of the most important and beautiful things I have ever done for my son and in my life.
(Here we are, in the early days, between nursing sessions)