I recently weaned my 14 month old baby - the one who is most likely my last baby -and as I sit here, warm compress on my swollen and painful boob, and reflect, I feel both sadness and liberation. For one thing, I got to enjoy an iced coffee (regular, not decaf) this afternoon. Such liberation means I no longer have to think about what I consume and when; this is definitely a treat. On the other hand, I miss the closeness. I miss our quiet time nursing in the morning together -- admittedly, so often my attempt to extend the time I could remain in my warm bed with him snuggled up next to me half sleeping, half sucking. The minute I'd hear him stir in his crib in the morning, I'd bring him right in with us - and usually get at least a good 15 or 20 minutes more of cozy bed time before having to get up and start the day. Now that I am not nursing, we need to find a new morning routine together. It's been a slow start.
Weaning a 14 month old baby is easy in that he hardly remembers what he is missing. He is too busy, too distracted with the world and all of the playthings around him to notice the change. Ocassionally he will nuzzle into me and I will think, Maybe he remembers... but then in a minute he's on to something new he's found on the floor, and it's over. He drinks milk zealously from a sippy cup, shouting "Mah Mah Mah!" which means both "milk" and "more" - it's hard to differentiate at this point. And I am pretty certain, having weaned my first son at this same age almost six years ago, that this baby also will have no memory of nursing.
But that is OK, because I do, and I will.
