It’s over. I guess I knew it was coming, but I’m sad nonetheless. I was really hoping to give it a little more time but it has been made clear to me that I no longer have a say. I’m done.
Breastfeeding. JC has decided he’s done. I’m done. And for all the wishing I could take aspirin again, I am sad. He somehow heard the chimes of his 1st birthday ringing and decided it was over. I have made offers to no avail. Sure, I could be happy to relieve my migraines with fantastic medicine. I could be glad to be rid of the breast pump I carried to work, or to overnight stays where I might be away for several hours. I should be glad to use up all the frozen stores of milk taking up space in the freezer. I should be celebrating with a beer (or several). But I’m just not in the mood. I’m feeling a bit sad. Nostalgic. All of my kiddos nursed until 14 or 15 months. JC has asserted his independence and caught me a bit off guard. This probably won’t be the last time he does that. I really assumed I was calling the shots and would be weaning him when I was ready. No, I wasn’t planning to be feeding him during his kindergarten milk breaks, but I thought I at least had a few more months.
It’s not just that I was feeding him. Breastfeeding is bonding time. Quiet time. It was the few moments in a day where I was forced to NOT do something, no multitasking. I liked it. Even when I complained that I can’t get everything for everyone else and nurse the baby at the same time (well, most of the time). I will miss it. This is the last baby, so this is really the last time. My breasts have retired. According to me, anyway. Apparently my husband disagrees.