Freedom

Three days before T's 13 month birthday, we dropped the final (nighttime) nursing. I find I am having two distinct and distinctly conflicting responses to this:

1. Joy. For the first time in almost two years, there is no one living in my body or drawing complete or supplemental nutrition from me. I can eat what I want, drink what I want and stop wearing the hideous nursing bras the fashion industry has left behind.

2. Melancholy. For me, this signals the end of my son's babyhood, even more so than walking. Also, I find that I'm really missing the baby snuggle time I had with him in the mornings and before bed. Ry has been putting him to bed for the last 3 nights. Last night, it only took 2 minutes, so even after I take over again, I won't have the delicious sleepy snuggle time before bed.

T, on the other hand, seems to be handling it pretty well. The first night Ry said he seemed confused, but ultimately drank the milk from the sippy cup and went right to bed. The second night, as he was getting sleepy, he kept trying to turn toward Ry, as if to nurse. (Hearing this later about broke my heart). He got a bit fussy, like "this isn't right." Last night, it took all of 2 minutes to put him down. He drank some from the sippy cup, looked up at Ry with heavy eyes and feel asleep in his crib 30 seconds later.

All in all, weaning T was nowhere near as bad as I feared (and heard) it was going to be. Granted, it was a 3 month process, but it was worth it to go so slowly.