I wrote a few months ago about our breastfeeding journey – the lows and highs, and the pride I’ve taken at successfully feeding my baby boy for a year, which was my aim.
He is now heading for fourteen months and it is time. It is time for me to get my body back to myself. Time to retire the sad looking maternity bras. Time to fix up some health issues that needed to wait until I finished feeding. It is time.
Time to let Daddy take the reigns on some early mornings and also for him to enjoy the night time cuddles that until now I have selfishly sequestered for myself. My special time.
This week I went straight from work to the hairdresser one evening. It's the first time I’ve not made it home to put bubby to bed and he had a big warm bottle with his Daddy, and drifted softly into his sleepy space. I’m completely over pumping, so it was formula. But to be honest, he’s ready for normal milk now anyway. He’s a healthy boy with plenty of chub. He drinks and eats like a baby possessed.
I’m ready. And so is he.
I’m sitting here thinking during our evening feed knowing it may be one of our last. I asked my husband to take a commemorative picture which I can tell he thinks is ludicrous. They arent the most insta worthy pictures, but they capture this moment in time for me. I'm trying to memorise the words and feelings I’ve later tried to write down in this blog.
I’m trying to commit to memory the way he snuggles into me, bouncing and doing a little dance once we’ve said goodnight to his big brother, big sister and played a few rounds of peekaboo with Daddy saying goodnight at the door. Remy has turned off the light (because he loves all things switchy) and as I’ve walked us to our feeding chair he has abandoned the baby bear and dummy that for all other times he will cling to for dear life. He lets them go ‘to bed’ because he knows Mummy’s milk is coming.
Maybe it would be easier if you just didn’t want it. If you pushed me away and said no Mummy... I doubt it. You don’t really seem all that fussed when you’re playing around with the big boys toting your (de-batteried) x-box controller in hand. But when it's just us in the dim light, all cuddled up in fresh warm pajamas and clean from your bath, I know it signals the happy and safe end of your day.
I feel a mix of sad and ‘lump in the throat’ proud of my little one. Cuddling into my chest like that. Smiling up at me with a big grin and ceremoniously poking my belly button when I lift my top because he thinks it is just hilarious (it is btw).
Tomorrow night maybe I will let Daddy give you a bottle. The morning after that perhaps?
Maybe I will be ready to let you go a little then.
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