I’m weaning Some Boy. I won’t go into all the details, but after months of perseverance and a lot of difficulty breastfeeding, Nate and I decided it’s the right thing to do for our family. It was a hard choice. I didn’t think I’d feel this sad.
I won’t miss the stares from strangers as my 21-pound seven-month-old struggles and flails beneath my nursing cover, yanking the fabric around him in his constant battle to expose me. He is SO strong. Definitely takes after Nate.
I will miss our mornings cuddled together as he looks up at me, utterly content in his favorite place. I will miss the bond that nobody else in the world could share with him. I will miss that sense of pride and accomplishment in providing for my child the most natural way possible.
The hardest part is that he still turns to me for simple comfort, even when he’s completely full. He claws at my shirt and cries. I cry too, sometimes, and offer a manufactured version of myself. He is taking to it, and I see him occasionally eye his bottle with what can only be described as admiration. He used to look at me adoringly, with that familiar little smile. He used to rely entirely on me.
I will miss that.