Being mom to a now toothy 14-month-old, you'd think that I'd be doing the dance of joy to finally be done with the clogged ducts, stained blouses, throbbing boobs, limited "gimmick" time and the occasional bib malfunction in malls (never thought I'd be a flasher...gasp), but now that my self-imposed weaning deadline of one year has come and gone, I find myself strangely, intentionally prolonging the end.
Sigh. I love the feeling of her warm little body against mine, her soft hand playfully slapping my chest, pinching my lips and stroking my face (yes, she's one active kid). I also love seeing her slip into sweet sleepy bliss every time I tuck her relaxed and limp body down in her crib. There's nothing like it. (God really knew what He was doing when He created women to do this!)
Not to mention the fact that the famous tagline of one of those milk commercials, "Breastmilk is still best for babies up to two years," rings in my ears everytime I think tonight's the night to finally wean her off her last remaining feeding.
I'm so torn. I know that I can prolong this as long as I want, some determined moms have even nursed to 5 years! But talk about heroic. No superhero intentions here though. My opinion is, if the baby is big enough to go to preschool, it's time to let go.
Which brings me to today, I'm itching to get back into freelance styling soon and physically and mentally need to be present to do the job, so the faster I can transition my sweetie the better it is.
I never thought it would be so hard.
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