I said... I'll give it my best shot.
I can't believe he knows what to do.
I can't believe I don't.
I can't do this.
I have to do this.
It's worse than labor.
I'll do it for a month.
How can he be so hungry?
How can it be so painful?
I can make it two more months.
Nothing's ever been so hard.
He's thriving, thank God.
It does get a bit better.
I've never been so exhausted.
I've never been this determined.
Six months should suffice.
This is getting much better.
He's thriving, thank God.
Nothing's ever been so sweet.
If we wean, will he sleep through the night?
Nine months, that might be it.
I'm losing track of time.
Nothing's ever been so lovely -- or convenient, for that matter.
We're making it to a year.
How could I ever stop now?
I don't think it's up to me.
If he bites me ONE more time...
It's a phase, yet another phase.
He's thriving, thank God.
I want my body back.
But how would we get him to sleep?
How would we make him stop crying?
Mastitis... AGAIN?
Oh, when can I have a drink -- a tall, strong drink?
How could I take this from him?
How could I let this go?
Stop asking me when we'll stop.
I love this quiet, love this calm.
I love how much he loves it.
I hope he self-weans soon.
I'll miss this more than I know.
I'm a pacifier personified.
At 2 years old, I'm done.
He's just not ready yet.
Night-wean, but still co-sleep?
We should wait another week.
I don't want to disconnect, disentangle, detach.
I think I need some sleep.
I've said a lot about nursing this last year and a half. But lately I'm finding there is not much left to say. Every evening as the sun dips into the clouds, I watch my son's focused eyes lock onto my skin as he lunges greedily for, then grazes lazily on, his favorite food. It's the most peaceful time.
Someday -- maybe soon, maybe not -- this won't be one of the ways we experience our love for each other. But today, it is. And today I'm grateful, for all that has brought us here.