Tuesday, December 28, 2010


At six o'clock this morning, my son did something he has never done before. He was hungry and he refused a bottle. He sobbed, pushing the bottle away angrily. He was demanding to be breast fed. 

I nursed him. He was lucky - it was first thing in the morning, so I was pretty engorged. He wrapped his soft little hands around my breast and stroked it gently as he nursed. His eyebrows furrowed, as though he was putting every ounce of concentration into enjoying this moment and the connection between us. It broke my heart and warmed it at the same time.

Once I was empty (after hardly any time at all), I offered him the bottle again. He refused it, and cried as I put him back in his crib. His little sobs and sniffles gradually abated as he fell asleep again. 

I don't want to stop breastfeeding. I absolutely love it. I have enjoyed the convenience, the connection, the knowledge that although there were so many things my body wasn't able to do to create my son, it was at least able to nourish him. And I know how incredibly lucky I am to have been able to do it. I thanked my stars every day. But my milk supply was starting to decrease, and I thought it made more sense to do it now while we had a lot of time, rather than do it with the "back to work" deadline looming over us. 

The weaning has been going really well. But I guess it was too much to ask that he wouldn't notice the change, that my (albeit incredibly adaptable) baby would be able to completely give up something he loves so much without any protest at all. And in a way, I find it reassuring. He's showing me that he has enjoyed nursing as much as I have over the past 10 months.

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