R is officially weaned. It took a good month to get him completely off the breast, but now he is strictly guzzling from sippy cups, and I am ambivalent.
I am so dedicated to breastfeeding. I think it is one of the very best things I can do for my babies, and I have battled pumping, bleeding nipples, infected milk ducts, and bites from tiny, sharp baby teeth all for the cause. Both boys breastfed for more than 13 months, and we never bought any formula. By the end of that year, I am ready to have my breasts back. I am tired of leaking and anxious to fit back in my clothes again. I am anxious to hand over more of the feeding duties to T and more than ready to stop nursing in public places.
So there are many bonuses, but there are also some drawbacks. First my monthly visitor rears its ugly head after being dormant for a solid year. Also, my breasts shrink back to their old size and suddenly seem nonexistent compared to my breastfeeding bounty. And lastly, and most heart-wrenching, R (and Q two years ago) no longer needs me as much. Of course he needs his mom to dress him and bathe him and change him and warm up his oatmeal. But anyone can do that. Nursing was something just between the two of us. He would reach for me, and follow me with his eyes. He would light up when I came into the room and demand to be handed over. I could instantly make him utterly content. Nothing beats that.
He is still a mama's boy and never fails to give me a dazzling smile. But I miss the shared closeness of breastfeeding. Somewhat.
--MM
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