a new era

For those that know my personal breastfeeding story... I think my son is done.  I know, I know... I said it before but then we had a few moments of him needing some reassurance, family travels which I think made him feel disconnected, life, etc.  And now it's been about two weeks.

It's very strange for me.  Wow.  I experienced my first "baby" weaning from breastfeeding in the most uneventful, anti-climactic, non-stressful, easy, and completely child-led way.  Exactly how I read about it happening.  I feel great about it but.... I feel sad in a reminiscent way.  Thinking about those early days (about 90 really hard ones) of pain, crying, and yet never giving up hope really seem like yesterday.  Even though the weaning process had been soooooo gradual and sooooo smooth, why do I feel like it caught me off guard?  Remembering all those extra tired nights when I secretly wished he would be done I want to take back.  Perhaps he was ready for it a lot earlier than I was.  Just as he was ready to show me his first tooth before I was ready to give up that cute toothless smile.  Just as he is ready to jump down from the tree before I am ready.  Just as he is ready to be away from me for an entire day before I am from him.

Someone asked me if I knew that the last time was "the last time".  No, because it was happening so infrequently at the end and I started to lose track of when he breastfed last.  But that question made me realize how I'm so lucky it happened that way.  If I had known that the very last time was going to be it, I would have been a big, soggy mess.  I would have wanted to take pictures.  I would have eaten a whole tub of ice cream.  I can't imagine it going any smoother and I'm so glad that it followed his timing.  For kids, there are so many emotionally eventful things in their lives that happen based on someone else's timing or rules.  A child starting kindergarten at five, whether they're ready or not.  A child having to give up playing with a toy whether they're ready or not, so they can learn a lesson about being polite.  Their mommy or daddy leaving them to go to work, whether they're ready or not.  A child getting a new sibling, whether they're ready or not.  Being forced to grow up quickly, whether they're ready or not.

Not this journey.  No Ma'am.  This journey ended for him when he was ready, no sooner and no later.  He was able to decide when and how, and he owned that process.  He is a more confident boy because of it.  And I am the mother that I am today because of that journey that we went on together.

My tandem nursing days are over.  Luckily for me, I still get to breastfeed my other "baby" at 22 months.  And luckily for me, my older son still loves to snuggle and hold my hand tightly as he falls asleep every night.  I am lucky and grateful for what lessons breastfeeding has taught me. 

strange to be back

Some time has passed since I last visited here.  Just about four years or so.  No biggie, stuff happened.  You didn't miss much.  Oh, except that now my son is 4.5 years old and he found a baby brother along the way, who is now 22 months old.

I started posting my blog on my own handy dandy Mac which teaches tech challenged people like me how to have their own website but then they took that away from me.  So I'm back to this place which welcomed me back with open arms.

Quick update:
Sleep is STILL for wussy mamas.  Really.  That's just what you tell yourself so you can get through the day without overdosing on coffee or seeing your brain fall out of your head as you listen to yet another rendition of Old MacDonald.  Instead of asking for a song to repeat, because I think my son doesn't know how to ask for it that way, he says, "Mom, I want that song to play over and over and over and over again.  Make it play over and over and over and over again."

Then I give him a look which he misinterprets as needing to add a word at the end which will let me know that he is appreciative.  "Make it play over and over and over and over again please."

I don't care about the please.  I care about seeing my brain fall out of my head.  I hit "repeat" on the music thingy and just pray that my dirty hair which hasn't been washed in a week will hide the mess of my brain falling out of my head.  Or maybe the tangles will catch it so that I can put it back in at night.

The part that salvages the whole experience is getting to watch two really cute, half dressed, peanut butter crusted boys dance around the room.

We homeschool (unschool, life school, home educate or whatever it's called nowadays), we garden, we "do" shows, we have amazing adventures, we study butterflies going through their metamorphosis, and we ourselves grow.  But we don't sleep.  Well... rarely.