I still can't talk about this without getting teary-eyed, but it seems that I've weaned Genoa. My last baby. The last chubby little munchkin who will ever lift my shirt and say, "Milk peez!" I realize it's a bit ridiculous because she is almost two and a half, but still. Knowing I'll never nurse another baby fills me with a painfully nostalgic form of grief.
I'll never have any more babies.
It's like a part of me has died.
Genoa was ready, though, and as much as I would've been willing to nurse her another six months or maybe even longer, it wasn't going to change the fact that I'm not having any more babies. That she is no longer a baby.
I had that dental surgery on Tuesday and before they put me under, I asked the anesthesiologist how long I would have to wait before nursing the baby again. He said I would be fine the next morning, but I decided to give it a full 24 hours just to make sure all the drugs were out of my system. I was still too out of it to even put her to bed on Tuesday, so Dave did it and she didn't seem to miss the milk. The next morning, I simply explained that the doctor told me I couldn't nurse her because of the medicine I had to take. She didn't even fuss about it at all. She just understood.
It was almost too easy.
After about 48 hours, I started to leak a tiny bit of milk. I wasn't engorged or uncomfortable, but I worried I would be, so I decided to nurse her one. last. time. It's so easy to remember the firsts, but I wanted to remember the last time I ever nursed a baby. So on Thursday night, I explained to her that she could nurse before bed, but then we would be done with nursing. Again, she seemed to understand.
We curled up together under her flamingo duvet and she twisted my hair around her fingers and nursed enthusiastically, occasionally popping her little face up to giggle and tell me she loved me. I cried the whole time, of course. I'm crying right now just thinking about it. Since then she's asked me for milk maybe twice and understands when I tell her I don't have any left. At bed time she tells me, "No more milk, but we can snuggle, Mama!"
She was ready.
Sadly, I was not.