I am a proud breastfeeding mama.
I am certainly no lactivist,
and I certainly believe in doing what works best for you.
but, for us, what’s certainly best has been boobies over bottles.
My daughter has been exclusively breastfed for 10 1/2 months now,
which, if I’m being honest, is about 4 1/2 months longer than I’d originally planned,
or even hoped for.
I didn’t have lofty breastfeeding goals to start;
in fact, when I had some challenges with nursing in the hospital after my c-section, I promised myself that I would listen to my body,
trust my instincts,
and never beat myself up;
I would applaud myself for what I did,
and for all of the positives.
If I breastfed her for a day,
great.
For a month,
wonderful.
We would go with the,
uh,
flow.
I have had my share of breastfeeding ups and downs,
but, all in all, I can honestly say that I love it.
I cherish this special time we have together,
and the one thing that my daughter and I share that can never and will never be replaced.
All that being said,
the question that continues to pop into my head,
now that my baby is a standing, cruising, talking, understanding, knowing real person, teetering on the edge of toddlerhood,
is when do I stop?
How do I stop?
Do I want to?
Do I need to?
Okay, I realize those are several questions,
but come on, this is some serious stuff.
And, fortunately for all of us, there’s no right answer.
So, my current plan is to go to one year, when she can switch right over to cow’s milk in a cup.
And I feel good about this.
Except, if I’m being totally truthful, there is a small, nagging feeling inside my chest that tells me that I will really, really miss this when it’s all over.
I will miss the sounds and feelings I’ve grown so accustomed to.; when my baby looks at me, in the eyes, and it’s just the two of us in the world;
I will miss being able to nourish my daughter with nothing more than my own body; I will miss this primal, instinctual, age-old act that bonds me to her and the universe.
And then, there are times like today, when my daughter popped her head up from nursing,  grabbed my boob and held it up to her ear like a telephone and said “Hi!”
It is those times when I look at my big, little girl,
and think of all of the sushi and champagne and real, strong caffeinated coffee at the end of this tunnel
and a feeling of readiness washes over me.
So, 6 weeks and counting.
But, as with all other things, I can only plan so much.
I’m just along for the ride, after all.
So, dear 6-weeks-in-the-future-me:
You’re weaning. Woohoo! Stay strong. She’s still your baby. She always will be. Your bond will last forever,
breastfeeding or not.
Now, go find some champagne. Thanks! Love, Mommy the Milkmaid.