Note: This is another blog about breastfeeding, or in this case, not breastfeeding. You’ve been warned! Turn back now or it’s yours to deal with forever!
As of last week, I am biologically irrelevant to my baby. Yup. I cut her off. No more boob juice. Adios Areoles. So long suckling. Weaned.
We’ve been heading toward this for a while, slowly dropping one feeding at a time. It wasn’t too hard to cut back as she drank more liquids and ate more solid food. She and I got down to just a morning feeding, which seemed to be the best time ever. Saralyn generally wakes before Eleanor, and we have some exclusive mommy-cuddle-time in bed before the day gets rolling. Saralyn, however, grew teeth, and took up biting me when she was done. So, about 10 days ago, I cut her off.
I always said I wanted the girls to get the immunization benefit of 12 full months of breast milk. And I am very happy that I could accomplish that. Neither has ever has a single drop of formula, which is SO expensive, somewhat unnatural, way over-processed and just smells bad – coming and going! I’m pretty proud to have had the ability, time and support to give each child more than a year at the breast. Tony gets HUGE props for being assistant milk manager.
But, I am sad to give it up. I know that this special time with my girls is gone forever now. I’m not planning to have another child, and I feel like a very special chapter in my life is over. It pains me to think that they will never remember being skin-on-skin close. The head nuzzles or the fuzzy hair sniffing. I’ll remember for a while… but the minutes where they will just let me hold them close and tight are becoming fewer and farther between.
Saralyn, to say the least, has hated weening. She’s grieved over it, too. She’s thinks drinking cold, whole cow’s milk sucks out loud, and spends her morning cuddle time tugging on the front of my shirt, and slamming her face into my chest. She thinks that she will find what she’s looking for if she goes through the old motions enough. She’s even tried to get into granny’s shirt a few times. Talk about barking up the wrong tree…
I’m sorry kid. I really am. I REALLY am. But I can’t keep you a baby forever, as much as I may want it. And it breaks my heart.