Monday, October 10, 2016


Ivy nursed for the last time on the evening of her fourth birthday. Which means she nursed exactly two full years longer than I expected her to.

Weaning was not really her idea, but I could see that she was easing into being done. I noticed her going to bed without asking to nurse more and more often, and as we inched toward her fourth birthday, I thought that might be a natural cut-off point. In the week leading up to her birthday, I don't think she asked at all, and I thought she might've actually weaned on her own. But when she cried "I wanna nurse wiff Mama!" on the evening of her birthday (after a day filled with cake, party, and lots of presents) I went in and nursed her. And I knew it was the last time.

I was done. I'd been done for two years. Breastfeeding was easier with Ivy, and I even had little moments of loving it, but it was never my favorite thing. And now, of course, I kind of miss it.

Ivy still talks about nursing, usually in the context of "when I was a baby and I was so cute!" conversations. She has asked a few times since August, and I've explained that while we don't do that any more, I will still hold her, and hug her, and kiss her.

A few days ago, snuggled into my lap, she said something about wanting to nurse. I hugged her close, told her I loved her, and that she could always have hugs and kisses: "Hugs and kisses are so nice."

She sighed a little. "Yeah," she said. "But not as nice as nursing."



Carolyn said...

I have no clue how I started following your blog. Like you, before kids. I wrote. My oldest just turedn 4 too. Except I was leave her pull ups "with Mickey Mouse at Disney" and making her poop in the toilet. It's been an interesting two weeks since that happened. Anyways, I just logged into Feedly and saw "Weaned." I clicked. Those were fond memories. I'm glad it's over for both of mine. It was a nice year for them each. But 4 years. Wow. Go you.

Anyways. I'm reading. This is some real shit. I understand you.

Emily said...

I'm de-lurking to say that I'm glad you're writing again, and I want for you to be okay. I started to worry about you when your back was hurting, and you often seemed so unhappy but trying so hard not to be. Then one day you were gone from these pages and I kept checking back, off and on, for the last 2 years. Tonight I was just randomly flipping through the list of people I wonder about, imaginary real people that I kind of met on the internet, and I stopped here, just to see if maybe. You know? And here you are! I live in Portland, and feel kind of nuts that I haven't introduced myself for so long. I'm Emily. Please know that you are not alone. Please keep writing and saying the things that you need to say. People in the ether care about you. I don't know how you feel about that (maybe creeped out, maybe comforted, maybe both), but it's true.