Weaning

It looks as though I set up this blog just in time to record a critical and bittersweet moment in the mother/child relationship: weaning. Thursday, Friday, and Saturday of last week, my son

refused to latch for more than half-a-second, and fussed as I attempted--so on Sunday I didn't even try. My son no longer wants my nourishment! My son is weaned.


To be honest, I'm surprised he went as long as he did, and this blow wasn't as big as it could've been, because I've been prepared for it for weeks.

We started weaning on his first birthday (Happy Birthday Son! Less Milk!) although he had been ready for at least a month prior. According to my husband, at one time or another I had declared that each of his nursing sessions (except for the first) was going to be THE FIRST TO GO! This was because he had become highly distractible: he would nurse for two minutes, hear something, unlatch with a yank to investigate, relatch for a minute, unlatch with another yank to investigate something else, relatch... The only reason I didn't start weaning earlier was that I didn't want to buy formula for such a short period of time. Sure, I probably could've given him whole milk before his first birthday without turning him into a mutant--but hey, he's my first child and I was trying to do things as recommended by the experts!

We dropped from four nursings each day to one in less than a month. It was the morning session that continued after the rest were no more than a memory--and the one he continued for comfort more than anything else. In fact, I was continually surprised that he kept it up day after day--he even extended the amount of time he spent nursing in the morning.

At numerous times over the last two-and-a-half months, he would suddenly decrease the time he spent at the breast, and each time he did, I would get a little tearful and say "it's probably almost over now." I would cuddle him (as much as an energetic toddler would allow) and think back on the rocky start we had with nursing, and reflect on the End of an Era. But the next morning he always wanted more, so I followed his lead. There were times I marveled that there could possibly be anything left and wondered whether he was using me as a pacifier--although the occasional dribble of white in the corner of his mouth said otherwise.

Over the last two weeks, though, he hasn't been nursing for more than 5-7 minutes total, so I knew that the end really had to be near. And I was right.

I celebrated on Saturday by having a peanut butter sandwich for lunch, and on Sunday by having an omelet for breakfast (both confirmed or suspected allergy foods I've been avoiding for months now.) I also had alcohol on Sunday for the football game--although I would've done that anyway. It will also be nice to have more time in the mornings--though I'm not sure when I'll check Facebook anymore. So it's not all sad. But there's no denying that a big part of parenthood is over with this child.  *sigh*  *tear*