I’ve nursed the boy longer than I did either girl (I stopped with Zoe at 15 months, Chobe at 10 although I pumped and bottle-fed her breastmilk until she was one; he’s heading into 16 months). Decidedly, though, this week will be it and I won’t be nursing in 2011. As it stands, I nurse him only once a day, right before bed. He takes a cup at bedtime just fine if I’m out, so I don’t think the transition will be a difficult one (for him).
I will miss being able to refer to my breasts as boobalicious. I will miss being able to fill up (and oftentimes spill over) the small bras I own. Mainly, though, I will miss the closeness he and I shared through nursing. Staring into his eyes as I provided nourishment. Stroking his head as he fell asleep (as horrible a habit as it ultimately was). Singing You Are My Zaid (instead of Sunshine) to him or reciting Goodnight Moon from memory. Sure, I can (and will) continue to do all those things because they are special for us, but doing them while nursing was just specialer.
And if I weren’t such a coward (and still reeling from the travesty of the whole c-section fiasco) I’d buy some boobs. And wear sheer shirts. Hopefully, though, the end of nursing will find me gaining a little weight. I feel unhealthy and waifish (reminiscent of high school which was filled with ugly, taunting, teenagery comments). Maybe a return to yoga for mental balance and normal hormones for physical balance will do the trick.