Judah is officially weaned. It's been about two weeks now, so I'm calling it. He still takes a bottle of moo milk to bed every night and occasionally gets one first thing in the morning, but no nursies. *sniff* I had wanted to nurse him at least 18 months, as I did Sofi, but his nursing was getting pretty perfunctory and more habit than nutrition. The meds I'm taking are supposed to be safe for breastfeeding, but I haven't really liked giving him a "daily dose" of what I'm taking along with his nursies. So when he was at the point where he wanted to get down after about three minutes of nursing (and we were only doing that about twice a day) I just decided to encourage him a little.
As those who know our story could guess, it's been pretty emotional to wean this one. I've had to keep letting go of this pre-conceived idea of what "my family" would look like. I've wanted another little girl ever since Sofi was born-- a sister for her (whole 'nother post there), in addition to more of the companionship and "kindred spirit"- thing for me. Don't get me wrong, I love my son enormously and wouldn't trade him for five more girls! But boys are a mystery to me and I feel a little off-balance when I think of raising him to be a man of God.
But with the weaning of Judah, I'm having to come to terms with the likelihood that God is not going to give us more children. I will likely not have another daughter to pass on those pink-and-girly, frilly-lacy things to. I'm not putting God in a box here. I know He could easily overcome the obstacles any time He likes. I'm just saying that from all visible indications, Judah is the tail of the Forshey dog (how's that for an analogy!).
I don't want to say that in a "poor me", sympathy-inducing manner. I want to say it in a joyful, God-is-in-control-and-that's-the-way-it-should-be manner. I'm getting there... It's silly, really. Two children are all I can handle at the moment anyway. Why should I be sad about something I probably won't get to have, that I think I want later, but not now, for sure! That's ridiculous.
But who can argue with the hormonal melancholy of a weaning mother? Don't argue, just pass me some more chocolate. And a new box of tissues.