Monday, April 30, 2012


Jamie is weaned now, I think. It's been three whole days, preceded by a gradual shortening and spreading out and more interest in picking my nose than actually nursing. And I am happy/sad.

Happy because now I can finally maybe lose those pesky last few pounds that, contrary to promise, do NOT simply melt off due to my on-demand nursing schedule. Happy because it means I can buy a few new tops that will not be stretched like a hula hoop at the hem. Happy because it means there will be fewer and fewer and gradually none of those incidents of a sudden desire for the boob leading to a toddler-shirt-grabbing-flashing-the-old-gentleman-passing-by in the Costco aisle. True story. Happy because I can look forward to snuggles that don't involve wrinkled shirt tails, stretched out bras, tiny fingers up my nose and in my ears and mouth, a crick in my neck and repeated tyrannical demands for "Whaaa WIIIIIYED???" ("other side") (true story, again. for some reason he thinks it tastes better if we play musical boobs...)

Sad because... oh well, for all the reasons mothers have forever felt bittersweet about weaning their babies. Sad because they're growing up too fast. Sad because it's the first small step towards me needing him more than he needs me. Sad because he asks, and then is distracted... but asks again and must be distracted again and something in me wonders, "is it ok? is this the right time? does he still need me?" Sad because I will miss the sweet, sweaty body of him snuggled up to me and the limp abandon of complete trust and complete contentment-- every need met, every wish fulfilled in that moment.

His body is lengthening and hardening and losing so much of the soft rounded edges of pregnancy and infancy. I remember it happened to Judah, too. And now when I look at Jude, I see a short, solemn-eyed young man, a foreshadowing of the man he will be. I'm not sure I'm ready to look in Jamie's eyes and see Man James looking back. I'm not ready for shoulder blades and biceps and rolled eyes.

But it's outside of my control now. Once they're weaned time goes on speeding up infinitely. No more moments of eternity spent gazing into the eyes of my nursing babe. No more enforced contemplation... It's out of the rocking chair and onto the roller-coaster, mama. It's not meant to be forever.

But in my heart, forever I will cherish the sight of three pairs of bright blue eyes, looking up at me, head cocked, mouth full. I"ll always remember my nursing babes...

check out the other bloggers just writing with Heather...


Denise said...

Absolutely a beautiful, poignant way to phrase that.

I am not ready either. Not even close. I got 18 months with E and I'm hoping we get closer to 24 with J. We'll see. I do so love the quiet needs met, the comfort, the "enforced snuggles" and the true connection that nursing gives. *happy sigh*

(Like you, I HANG ON to extra pounds until the baby is fully weaned. At least, I did with #1 and so far seem to with #2 - if not actual pounds with him, definitely fat).

Tricia said...

Beautiful. I remember the final days of nursing my daughter and I felt the same conflicting emotions. I get to do it all one more time now and I already both yearn for and fear this day.