My Weaner

When I was eight weeks pregnant, Luke nursed for the last time. I vividly remember it. He was in bed with me, and when he was finished, he covered me up with a blanket and said, "Bye bye, num nums." I didn't know for sure that it'd be the last time, but it was.

At the time, I mostly felt relieved. Relieved because it was painful for me, and nursing a toddler is not easy. Relieved because in a selfish way, I wanted my body back for just a few months. Also relieved because while I have nothing but respect for those mamas who tandem nurse, it was just not something I wanted to do.

And now, twelve weeks later, I still feel relieved. But there's this silly little part of me that feels sad. Sad because we no longer have any of those baby days to hold onto. Sad because when he hurts himself, my first instinct is still to grab him in my arms and nurse him. Sad because I miss those nursing moments, the rare moments where he would settle into his arms, and it'd just be us.

Mostly though, I feel blessed. Blessed that despite my returning to work, our nursing relationship survived. Blessed that (for the most part) I always had support of family and friends. But most all, I feel so unbelievably blessed that in, oh, twenty weeks? I get to do it all over again.

All of these thoughts came to me because today I've spent all day thinking of Beth and how I can't imagine how hard today would be for her, but I've also thought of how much I admire the strength she has. How she's managed to turn pain into something beautiful and how I am so very proud to call her a friend. My thoughts have also turned to how blessed I am, how I am fortunate to have a perfect little boy sitting in my lap right now, and another perfect little baby kicking him in the back. Today I sat back and thought about all of these moments I've had with Luke, and how maybe when he was a baby, I sometimes didn't get what it meant to have him in my arms, but I do now.