It broke my heart to stop breastfeeding Henry, for the sole reason that it meant no longer being able to hold him in my arms as he fell asleep. That was my favorite thing in the world for 12 whole months: nourishing my beloved son and comforting him to sleep with my love and my off-key singing. But I still had the sweet moments before settling him into his crib (and, later, toddler bed) complete with a bedtime story and a lullaby, prayers, and kisses rained between whispered wishes for sweet dreams (or "beans" as he says). Elvis began to complain that my tuck-ins took longer than any tuck-in in the history of loving mamas. And I am so glad I never hurried, because now even those days are gone.
Henry is still very loving and affectionate (especially at bedtime), but now he scampers his little buns right into bed to await his bedtime story and smooches. I'm so proud of the boy he's becoming, and obviously the part of me that wants to raise a healthy self-sufficient man knows this is totally right. But that doesn't stop the part of me for whom Henry will always be my precious baby from crying like an idiot after closing his bedroom door each night.
No comments:
Post a Comment