Moving on is not easy. My emotions cover me head to toe, thinly veiled and completely undone by some of life's changes.
I'm ready to wean. Canaan's ready too. He's a big boy, all action and words and ideas. He still cries for mum-mum and there have been a few times I've almost aborted this mission and gone back to our cozy-all-the-time nursing days. I have actually nursed him four times since we went cold-turkey, for less than a minute each time. Each time I try *not* to wonder if it's the last. I try *not* to memorize how his little face looks, how his hands stroke my arms, how his hair feels on my lips as I kiss his sweet head. I try *not* to see how desperate his eyes look when I tell him it's time and break the suction with my finger.
I do soak in how he nestles in with his head resting on my neck once he stops. I cherish the way he still crawls in bed with me, takes my hand and uses my palm as his pillow. I cry even now, not wanting my precious baby boy to grow into a big boy who doesn't need mommy's cuddles nearly as much. Even though big boys are amazing too.
Right after I weaned Canaan, he and I both caught colds. This is the biggest temptation of all to nurse him. To nourish him the way only this milk within me can. I have expressed milk that I thawed and tried to give him in a cup, but it isn't what he wants. It's from the tap or not at all, I guess. I wonder if God allowed this minor illness as a reminder that we are both in His hands, at His breast, nourished by His loving care.
The worst part of nursing is letting it go.