Transitions: Breastfeeding - Ending an Era

As my pregnancy progressed, I decided I'd implement a don't offer, don't refuse breastfeeding policy at my house.

I wanted Buchela to take his time and wean himself when he was ready.

I crossed my fingers it would happen before our new little one arrived but I knew there were no guarantees.

Something inside of me also resisted the idea of breaking that bond.

Memories of the times we spent staring into each other's faces during breastfeeding have been imprinted in my mind.

It was a reserved time to really look at him anew, to examine his body closer, to read his face, to try to peek into his fast developing soul.

In those quiet moments, I have held his hands and wondered whose fingers his resembled, where his hairline came from, and how big his forehead was going to get.

I have playfully pretended to bite his thumb.

I have teased his belly.

I have caressed his legs as they grew in length everyday to the point where they draped across my lap and dangled towards the floor.

I remember gently scratching summer mosquito bites on his cheeks.

By the time February came around, he was breastfeeding only when he got hurt or upset.

He ran to Mama for a lot of comfort and a little sip.

He unlatched as soon as he felt better.

This went on until March. And sometime during that month, he stopped and he hasn't returned to it since then.

I don't remember the exact date he last breastfed.

I didn't know it would be the last time.