Even before I found out I was expecting, I was very passionate about nursing. I knew that I would definitely be breastfeeding my children, and I planned to do so for an extended period of time. Our bodies were made to feed our babies, so to do otherwise not only seemed unnatural, but alien to me.
I did not have an easy start. Wyatt and I had some latching issues, and I was issued a shield to use. I did what I could with that, and with a little hard work and a lot of dedication, I weaned him from the shield and established a nice latch when my little man was about two months old. From then on, we were in cruise mode.
I loved breastfeeding. I still do. I embraced everything about those special, stolen moments that no one else could have with my son. I would get up in the middle of the night to feed him. Laundry would sit unfolded, dishes unwashed. I would proudly take my prenatal vitamins every morning and chug ungodly amounts of water throughout the day to keep my body up to the task of producing up to 30oz of milk every single day.
After Wyatt's first birthday, I decided it was time to move towards weaning. Our lives were getting busier, and Wyatt was getting much more active, so I could no longer just pull out the girls every couple of hours and sit around while he topped off. For the past 3 months, I have gradually dropped feedings to make the transition easier for both of us. And trust me, the transition is probably harder for me than for the little runt. We have been down to the very last night time feeding for a while. I realized it was me who was going to have to make that very difficult decision.
Tonight, Wyatt took a couple ounces of cow's milk from the bottle. I read him a story. I put him to bed. When I put him down, he just looked up at me and smiled. Then, he rolled over, closed his eyes, and then fell asleep. My heart broke and soared all at the same time. He was ready for me to let him go.
My baby boy is not a baby anymore.
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