The end of nursing

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow is our last day for breastfeeding.

William turned one on April 22. I was determined that I would breastfeed him until his first birthday, per the recommendations of the American Academy of Pediatrics. We made it. We reached the milestone, and it's time to finish.

I actually didn't realize that it would be hard to get that far. William began to start self-weaning a couple of months ago. Our daily breastfeeding sessions dropped from four to three, then from three to two. I gave up the ghost of the third feeding when we were in Nashville. At eleven months, he was nursing twice a day, but I doubt he was getting much even then. He nursed, yes, but we gave him sippy cups of formula, too. And he eagerly took the sippy cups; after all, he could hold the cup himself and be a big boy. He just seemed to endure the nursing. So on his first birthday, I told him that we were giving up the second nursing. He never looked back. I figured, we'd keep the morning feed for awhile longer, until it was time to give it up.

Well, I guess it's time. I think it was actually time awhile ago, but I was reluctant to admit it. William's so active and hyper now that the nursing session is more like a wrestling match anyway. He'll nurse but only for a few seconds. Then he pops off and crawls off my lap, and I have to haul him back. Lather rinse repeat. So he really seems to be ready to move on, but it makes me sort of sad to really finish nursing. I know it might sound silly, but I feel very wistful. This really does mark the end of an era. I nourished my child with my own body for a year. And it was successful. William is healthy and happy and sturdy and beautiful. He eats table food now, and he drinks regular whole milk with no problem. It really is okay for me to give up the nursing now. He doesn't need it anymore. But for me, it is sort of like the symbolic farewell to my baby William. On the bright side, I have this wonderful toddler William. But it's still evoking some nostalgia in me--even though I realize that I don't miss the baby days when he was clamoring to eat at 2 a.m. and at 4 a.m. and at 6 a.m., etc. etc.

So I'm feeling a little sad, just for the few days leading up to the last day. I'll be fine. By next week, I doubt I'll even be thinking of it anymore. In fact, this morning, when I was trying to nurse William, he kept trying to crawl off my lap and dive over the side of the bed. I had to keep lunging for him, grabbing him by one leg, as he giggled wildly. I thought, "Well, I won't miss this." And at point, he tried to bite me. I won't miss that, either. It is time. It is time. It is time. But during the interim times he would nurse quietly, I'd smell the top of his little head and think, "Oh, my little boy is growing up." I just need to remind myself how wonderful it is that William is growing up and turning into this wonderful hilarious little boy. Because he is. And I am so relieved and proud of that. And I'm lucky that I'm not having to force the weaning on him.

So, we go on. Tomorrow is the last day. Then there will be a first day. And we go on.