Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Today Declan is 8 months old.
Today he is 11 days off the boob.
And today...I am okay with that decision.
Perhaps it's because I'm on the otherside of the precipitous, post-nurse hormone drop and the guilt and yes, shame, but I truly feel okay, because our child is finally sleeping better. Well, if he hadn't hit a growth spurt just a few days after weaning he would be probably be sleeping better, but we had 2 magical nights where our kid went to sleep, woke for a bottle before midnight, and didn't stir until 7 AM. Of course Harlow, our formerly rock star sleeper decided it would be her turn to wake several times in the night while he slept, but I saw it, y'all.
There is an end to this misery.
The nursing was never miserable. No, that's me already editing my memories. But as with anything so vital and passionate and important in one's life, I mostly loved it. I will miss the way his body curled into mine, his gaze, the sweet bleating noise he made when he was hungry. I already miss the instant fix of the almighty magical boob. What else will I miss? The 10,000 or so calories I burned on a daily basis. The big boobs and the skinny jeans were a seriously awesome bonus for our marathon nursing sessions, but these too shall pass. Very, very rapidly.
And Declan is thriving, my little man. Not crawling, not yet, but so, so close. He pivots 360 degrees and can stand when you take his hands. He just smiles and laughs and screams with delight and frustration. He is mad for his sister, his handsome reflection, stuffed animals and baby dolls...because they are delicious.
Infant cannibalism is a milestone, right?