Weaning

And so the time has come. After much discussion and research, Elvis and I decided recently that a year was probably about long enough to breastfeed. I love it and Henry loves it, but it’s just becoming too painful now that he’s got those four precious teeth. So we set out on what I thought would be a long road, eliminating one feeding at a time until he was entirely off the boob. Contrary to all the reading I did, the nighttime feeding was the first (and easiest) to go. It’s actually been about 3 weeks since Henry nursed to sleep at bedtime, and I don’t think he even noticed. I still cuddle and read and talk to him before bed, and we say our prayers before I put him in his crib, and I don’t think he’s ever slept better than recently, when his belly is full of solid food. Glorious. So I progressed to eliminating a pre-naptime breastfeeding as well, and wouldn’t you know it? Nary a fuss. Last week the kid didn’t get a boob at all, and he was just as happy as a clam. He still nurses occasionally in the morning, but I’d say he’s about 96% weaned at this point. And you’d never know how much he loved nursing now, to my dismay.
That’s right: as much pain as it caused me in the beginning (physical and emotional), I have fallen in love with nursing my son. It was so sweet to hold him in my arms and nourish him myself, and while I love the new ease and freedom of not having to confine ourselves to the nursery at feeding time, I also feel this sense of loss that I couldn’t have imagined. The days of being able to hold my little lovebug in my arms as he sleeps are numbered, and the thought brings tears to my eyes every time it flits through my mind.
How on earth am I going to make it through a lifetime of these little milestones?