I think I just weaned my last baby.
I have been so lucky to have been able to breast feed all my boys. I say lucky both because my boobies worked, and because I have been able to stay at home with them and feed them until they’ve all been ready to stop.
Engorgement and cracked nipples aside, I have loved feeding. I never found it inconvenient – on the contrary, it always seemed so convenient to have instant food and instant comfort for my babies.
I could keep feeding. Peanut has only been having a bedtime feed for the past month or so. But I really think I would just be feeding to hold on to my baby. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I am just really struggling with the fact that there will be no more babies in this house, and it is something I need to start embracing rather than grieving.
Where he used to fall asleep in a milk-induced stupor at night, he now gets antsy and upset after a feed. No more sleepy hair twirling, just wriggling and biting. He’s ready to move on too.
In the past seven years my body has gone through five pregnancies, two natural births, one caesarian, two miscarriages, two D & Cs and three years of breastfeeding. I think I’m ready for a break. To reclaim this worn out body of mine. Maybe even share it with my hubby a bit ;)
So tonight, I grieve. But I also breathe a sigh of relief and square my shoulders, ready to say goodbye to babies and greet this next stage of life. I greet it with saggy boobs, lined with silvery stretch marks that will forever remind me of holding close my warm, sleepy, soft baby boys.