There is so much excitement that comes with witnessing your child reach milestones. The first few years provide a wealth of joyful “firsts”. Their first smile, first giggle, the first time they successfully roll over (such a great moment, despite how much they look like a beached whale), first words, first steps. Every milestone is a bitter sweet melting pot of pride that they are growing and getting smarter, and sadness that they can’t stay a small, chubby and innocent baby forever. I remember the awe I had the first time my son shook his head and said, “No,” and really meant it. My eyes lit up and chest puffed out a little as I witnessed my child demonstrate one of the first true signs of independence and choice; a joyful feeling quickly countered with the sheer terror of the temper tantrums and verbal battles that would surely follow as a result.
Watching little babies grow into little persons is joyous, but conflicting. No wonder most new parents I meet are emotional messes.
My most recent experience of this conflict comes with my son’s decision to self-wean. You see, I’ve been breastfeeding him for the past 23 months. On Monday, he decided – with no prompting from me or my husband – that he was over it.
Just like that.
I knew it was going to happen eventually. I just didn’t think it would happen now. Or so suddenly.
Even though I’m surprised we’d even managed to keep breastfeeding up for this long (almost two years!), I’m still a little shocked that suddenly… it just stopped. Even though there were several times last year I thought I’d try weaning (e.g. when I went back to work, shortly after he started day care, the week he decided biting me was fun) I’m sad that this special relationship is… well… over.
And that’s exactly what it is: a special part of this relationship between me and my baby is now over. And I’m sad because I didn’t get a say in when it was going to happen. I don’t even have a full explanation as to why it had to happen now. All I know is that one day, my child was happily cuddling up to me before bedtime and drinking milk from my boob, and the next day he wasn’t interested, and instead kept asking for soy milk in a bottle.
It’s a bit like an anticipated break up that happened a tad too early.
There’s a part of me that’s hoping this is just a phase and we’ll “get back together” by the weekend. There’s another part of me that knows this had to happen eventually, and it’s probably for the best.
And while I know it was never my plan to breastfeed for much longer, I know I’m going to miss it. Terribly. This is, after all, why I kept putting off weaning when I had the opportunity to so many times last year.
I will miss the closeness that comes with holding my child close to me before he drops off into slumber. I will miss being able to provide him healthy, nutritious (and free!) food on demand. I will miss having the ability to calm him down and comfort him when he is upset/in pain/hungry/tired. I will miss having the option to lie down and fall back asleep together while/after I feed him in bed in the early mornings (eeek – our weekend mornings are going to be really different now). I will miss knowing that his immune system and general health are better because of my breast milk. I will miss the simplicity and mess-free packaging of breast milk and the efficiency of not having to prepare/wash up bottles and or sippy cups. I will miss being wanted/needed in such a unique way.
On the flip side, there are heaps of things I won’t miss and things I am looking forward to. I won’t miss leaking boobs, feeding bras, having my top pulled up/down in public places, or the unbelievable pain of having toddler teeth clenched tightly around one of the most sensitive areas of the female body. I’m looking forward to dressing for style and not necessarily function, and being able to wear pretty underwear. I’m also looking forward to the next stage of this mother-son relationship, knowing that this “letting go” for me is also “letting go” for him, and that he’s just growing up, and becoming bigger, stronger and more independent.
These aren’t extensive lists, by any means…. but they demonstrate the conflict that comes with reaching yet another milestone. This one in particular came with no warning or coaxing, so I’m bereft of control and feeling unprepared. I know I’ll get over it and see the silver lining in all of this, but there is something oddly painful about seeing your child grow up.
Last night, after my son fell asleep after drinking milk from a bottle, my husband found me looking lost and sad. He gave me a big hug. “He’s just growing up,” He explained, “You’ll probably feel a similar thing when he finishes high school, moves out of home, or gets married.”
The very thought of all those things happening in such rapid succession made me hiccup with tears.
The parenting books don’t explain this feeling and certainly didn’t prepare me for it.
I guess I just have to roll with the punches and (as the most popular Disney song of this time tells me) let it go… and see what crazy, beautiful new stage unfolds in front of me in this next chapter of my son’s childhood.