Someone told me once that I would hate nursing. It was too much stress, it was messy, this
little person was always attached to you and you could never leave them, you
always had to be on a schedule, etc.
She really missed out.
I’m sad she didn’t love it, maybe if this or that had been different,
she could have. Or maybe it really just
wasn’t for her.
I loved nursing. Two
nights ago I snuggled in with my little Z, telling him (mostly myself), “okay,
one last time”. And like the last
several attempts, he latched right on but almost right away, started wiggling
around, getting distracted or having an improper (and painful) latch. Maybe I don’t have enough milk for him
anymore. Maybe he’s gotten too used to
the ease and speed of bottle drinking.
Maybe he’s just grown out of it.
He made it the longest of all my kids. L was only four months old when I caught pneumonia
plus a bacterial infection, she began teething and I was preparing to go back
to work. Weaning was awful but
necessary. A made it to 9 months,
skipped bottles completely and went right to sippy cups. E nursed til 10 months but I had enough
frozen that she never had formula. Which
would have been fine. I fully support
each parent doing whatever is right for their family.
Z is 11 months and has been only nursing once a day, more of
a comfort feeding, for the past two months or so. With more and more table food, he just isn’t interested. And then we realized a bottle at bedtime
helped him sleep through the night. So
he nursed less and less. It’s okay. Every new step, every new milestone is
exciting. But part of me is really sad
this chapter is ending. I love
nursing. I love cuddling him close,
sharing that special bond, giving him exactly what he needs. It’s a simple calm
in the storm of life. (For us), it was
easy and convenient and sweet. I love
that he needed me, and that it renewed me.
So last night we didn’t nurse. I warmed a bottle and snuggle him in
close. Not quite the same but every bit
as sweet. He eagerly drank all his milk
but stayed content in my arms. He
eventually drifted off to sleep with his warm baby breath curling against my
neck. I’m sad, in the same way I’m sad
when I put away a size of clothes that will likely not be worn again. Or when I realized the girls stopped sneaking
into my bed at night. These are good milestones,
my kids are growing and having the most amazing experiences and developing
their talents and making new discoveries every day. But with it, just a little twinge of
sadness. Because I’ll miss this part.
