Bird: *tweaks my nipple* Heheheeee!
Daisymama: No! No pinching.
Bird: Num-a-num! Heheheheheeee!
Daisymama: Wanna nursey?
Bird: *looks at me as if I’ve just stepped out of a spaceship* Hehehee, no…
Daisymama: Hmm. Is Boo suddenly too grown up for nummies?
Bird: *emphatic nod* Uh- HUH! Wah-yee?
Daisymama: Okaaaaay… *hands Bird sippy*
The thing with timing is…
Mid-August 2005, we decided we would start trying to conceive in nine or ten months. September 5? Pregnant. Start musing that I’ll think about starting to maybe try to wean after age two. Age 23 months? Sixth bedtime without nursing, second or, no… third day in a row with only early morning sleep-nursing.
It’s sudden, and I am caught off guard, but I have had the easiest, most fun and playful week with her since she was a quiet nine-hours-of-sleep-at-a-stretch six month old. What makes me sad is I don’t have a breathtaking serious nursing portrait. What I do have captures the reality though, with the quickly snapped, laughing candid photos and the hilarious ones of her trying to tear off my face. It’s a little sad that it’s starting to look like I’ll be half sleeping through our last breastfeedings. (Although it is amazing how adorable a nursing child is at 3:30 a.m. when that’s the only time she wants to nurse.)
I’m just sort of surprised with myself. I feel so happy and at peace with this, assuming it really is a weaning experience. And it makes me feel really confident that I’m going with my gut. Even breaking my own rule by a month maybe! Certainly violating the sacred dogma of the hardest hardcore boob nazis. And I’m OK with it all, even the good-natured ribbing at work from coworkers who zOMG at me about weaning before kindergarten/middle school/college:)
It’s really just… OK. Wow.