My darling, darling baby. 5 days ago you woke up at 6:30 and I blearily carried you out into the living room, plunked down on the couch, and latched you onto my full breast. I remember you fussing a bit, and then settling down to business, just as you had approximately every 3 hours since the day you were born, 9 months ago. If I had known it was going to be the last time, I would have paid more attention. I would have been smelling your hair, and stroking your cheek, and savoring every second of what is beyond a doubt the most intense, emotional, beautiful relationship I have ever known: the one between a nursing pair. But I didn't know. Would never have guessed. So I can't remember whether your eyes were open, or shut. I can't remember if you were patting my chest, or pulling my hair. I don't. remember.
Since then I have tried every thing I can think of...ridiculous, far fetched, long shots in the dark. I'm not ready for you to be done. You're supposed to be my baby still, and this? this feels like you're breaking up with me. I'm like a love-sick 15 year old...all I do is cry and eat way too much ice-cream.
I cried when your big sister weaned herself. at twice your age. gradually, over the course of 2 entire months. But you? You came at me out of nowhere with this. blindsided me. as if someone who previously had done nothing but kiss me suddenly and without warning punched me in the gut, knocking all the wind out of my body and leaving me gasping for breath, wondering what the hell just happened. I told your papa, it feels like someone died.
Maybe I could start feeling better if I gave up. Said, OK, I guess she's done, and went with that. I could acclimate to the new normal. But I don't really believe that's what you want. So I'm struggling here, baby. Struggling, day after day (and maybe 5 days doesn't seem so long, to you. but its been en eternity already) to believe that you are coming back to me. To keep offering, even when you keep biting. To keep pumping, even when you are crying for me to hold you instead and Althea is tearing apart the kitchen. To keep hope alive. I'm not ready to give it up quite yet. But its the hardest thing.