Yesterday Jude didn't ask to nurse before bed. Not the day before that. Or the day before that. I think we all know what that means– robots have eaten his brain. Or, possibly that he's growing up and our milk-maid days are coming to an end. Personally I'm going to keep blaming robot lobotomy because I haven't seen I, Robot on the tv in a while and I need my action fix.
As I once told a gently misguided commenter here, "Whichever of you is the weiner or the weinie, you should do what feels right for your family." (Yeah there was really no reason to bring that back up except to rehash a classic old-fashioned dick joke. Oh commenter. Come here, sit down, let me hold your hand. It's spelled "wean," not "wein." There, do you feel better now? You sure look better.)
Anyways, to get to the point I think our breastfeeding days are over and weaning is upon us here in the grumbly household. We all saw it coming and I've taken the "don't offer don't refuse" stance for the past few months. Of his own unpressured accord he has pretty much... stopped asking. Completely. We were down to only twice a day, morning and evening, and now just halfheartedly in the morning. He's ready. There's not much else to it.
What's more shocking is that I think I'm ready too. Our whole breastfeeding journey has been full of unexpected twists and turns. I didn't really care about nursing; turned out it was pretty awesomely awesome. Now I love nursing– but I am so over it. Over it. I can't tell you how over it I am. BOLD LETTERS OVER IT. The climbing, the pulling, the on off on off. It puts me in a bad mood. It makes me angry that he won't settle down and do it right. It sets my teeth on edge. Another curve ball got thrown– for all my advocacy I am very ready to be finished.
Twenty months. Not a bad run if I do say so myself. Since he seems to be ready and I am feeling ready the timing worked out as well as we could have hoped. He's done, I'm done, what else could you ask for? Smooth like buttah.
When I read the stories of other mothers and their nursing toddlers I always loved hearing stories about what toddlers in their budding language would call it. In the back of my mind part of my goal was always to find out, what will the Jude call it? And at least I can say before the end that I got my answer: "sides." "Side? Side, mama? Side?" (I was pushing the whole time for calling it "milks" which is why I was so curious what he would finally come up with. It seems like they never go with what you expect and like to make their own term up instead. re: Sides.)
This morning was the first time I didn't automatically wake him up in the morning and offer him milk. He didn't ask. If he did I wouldn't say no, but I can't kid myself. He won't ask and it'll be over. Goodbye sides. Happy/sad/happy.
April 26, 2011
...and don't look back
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