As some of you know, I’m weaning. Have been weaning nearly forever (okay, like 8 months, but that’s nearly forever, right?) I’ve experienced this horrible push/pull feeling towards weaning. On one hand, I’ve wanted to be done. My main reason was so I could travel and Brianna could spend nights away from us and not be missing the nursing. We’ve reached that point, though when she’s home, until two weeks ago, she had still been nursing once in the middle of the night (thus the night-time waking). The last two weeks Josh has gotten up and she’s slept through the night more nights than she’s woken (I think she’s only woken twice in two weeks). So I should be glad, I’m getting a full night’s sleep, my body is my own and I have more freedom. Right?

On the other hand, I love nursing. I’m so glad I chose to do it and was able to. Glad I pushed through those first days and weeks of pain (yes there’s pain, you try having someone suck on your nipples–vigorously–for hour after hour, day after day, and see how your nipples feel), pushed through the tears (mine) and the demands (hers) and the self-doubt and the conviction that I’d never get it right. I’m so glad because nursing is this incredible, amazing, joyful experience that I wouldn’t trade away a minute of no matter how tied to the house I felt, or how limited in how far I could go. Because every second was a bonding moment with Brianna that I wanted to lock in my memory and keep forever. It was…awesome.

For Brianna, nursing and the word “nap” have become intertwined in her head. When she’s upset or needs comfort, she asks to “nap”–nurse. Well, it looks like naptime is probably over. It’s been six days–since Sunday. And that kind of makes me cry, even though I know it’s probably a good thing. Because some things you just can’t go back in time and do over, no matter how hard it is to let go.


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