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."