Thursday, January 19, 2012
Big Little Man
It hit me full force a few days ago that I was done. After the six full weeks it took for Dashiell to nurse successfully, I wasn't going to take nursing for granted for one second...and I didn't. But as I lay there nursing the baby a few mornings ago, I realized that this was pretty much it for me. As if on cue, Joel rolled over and said, "Dash, you really need to be done with nursing now. I want your mom back." And that was that.
With the girls I nursed anywhere from 11 to 18 months, but they always let me know when they were ready to be done, and there was never an issue. (Not from them, anyway. I always get a bit postpartum-ey at weaning time. Normal, but sucky.) This little man, though, might have gone on and on and on and on and on and on........you get the point. So, I let him finish nursing that morning, and he hasn't nursed again. Oh, he has asked. Pouted a couple of times, even. But some kisses, snuggles, hugs, and reassurance that he's still my little man and everything is a-okay again. No two of my children have ever weaned the same way, and I was unsure about this cold turkey business. It seems to be doing the trick, though! Every child is different, indeed.
Watching Dashiell gobble up his frittata and use his fork so well it hits me: I don't have a baby anymore. I've got a toddler on my hands. (Yes, the fork is pink. I can't find any kids forks these days that will actually pick up food so he uses the pink and green hand-me-downs from his sisters.) A running, climbing, talking, playing, stubborn little toddler.
But as I write this post he throws his arms around me, lays his head on my lap and sweetly says, "Mom. Mom. Mom." as he smiles at me.
Whatever this new chapter holds, we're going to be just fine.