Boogers on the Wall

I have spent more than four years of my life breastfeeding my babies. That may not seem like much, but it adds up to about an eighth of my time here on Earth.

And now I’m done.

I will miss nursing.

It was a way to bond me to my child.

A way to give them what they needed.

A way to keep them close.

It allowed me snuggling time with my babies.

It gave me an excuse to sit down and open up a book.

I liked that my kids needed me, that they wanted me.

Especially my baby girl. She nursed until she was 20 months old – far longer than my boys. Granted she didn’t start eating solids until she was 16-17 months old so that may have impacted things. But she was old enough to start shouting, “Milk” (which sounded kind of like “meowk”) and tug on my shirt.

I think she would have nursed until she was five! But it was no longer working for us. She was doing it for comfort not for nourishment. And she started hurting me while eating.

So sadly I stopped.

At first it broke my heart. She would cry and scream, “meowk,” while I rocked her in my chair.

I’d hold her and she’d cry until she fell to sleep.

But that only lasted about a week. Then she realized I could help her go to sleep without milk.

Now I look forward to rocking her just as much as I did nursing her. I think she looks forward to it too. I’ll cuddle to her in my chair and sing songs to her. Many times she sings along.

We sing and rock until she’s sound asleep.

And with that I’m closing my chapter on nursing.

It is a bittersweet closure.

Never again will I be bigger than a size A cup. And never again will I get Mastitis or engorgement.

It’s strange to move on. I swear I’ve been pregnant and nursing off and on for a decade now. But life moves on.

As long as I can find other ways to cuddle and care for my little ones I’m OK with that.