In two and a half months, the Bird will be two years old, and I will have reached my nursing goal. I’m ecstatic about that, and I think that someone should maybe buy me a trophy. It could have the Artemis of Ephesia on it, or Hathor. And she can also have a keyboard and a breastpump to represent the Working Nursing Mommy Goddess.
Reaching this goal means a great thing, beyond the coolness of being a successful breastfeeding, working mama in a culture that makes it a little* difficult to breastfeed. It means that whatever decisions I make after that magical date are suddenly free of guilt and pressure. If I decide to eschew child-led weaning in favor of contemporary frazzled mama imposed weaning, I feel peace with that. My momtuition tells me that weaning at least partially would help relieve some of my exhaustion. I’m actually not enjoying some time with her because I’m glued to her. I know weaning isn’t a cure for attachment exhaustion (I should trademark that!) but I think it would help me some. I know it will help with sleep.
I think after the birthday, I’m going to try to cut back to bedtime and morning nursing. I think I could do two feedings a day indefinitely. And if the limits cause her to stop altogether, I’m good. Don’t try to figure out why I think it’s somehow OK to wean a 24 month old but not a 22 month old; my logic is not like your Earth logic:)
*A little can mean a lot. I have just been really lucky with my family and my employer.