So this is a continuation from the "Welcome to Idaho" post. And it's about Jacob. You know my sweet, wonderful, youngest son, Jacob? Well, our first night spent in Idaho was anything but wonderful and sweet. I suspect it was a combination between teething, new surroundings, and possible stomach troubles (yet another post), that lead our Jacob to scream, and I mean SCREAM for a good portion of the night in MaCammon, ID. He was still nursing at the time and by the end of the night it felt like my boobs had been run over by truck tires covered in sand paper. He nursed and screamed the entire night. Not the best night on vacation.
Well, when we returned home from Idaho my sweet child decided that he was done nursing. And when I say done, I mean he was DONE. He refused me like I was his enemy. No seriously. He didn't want me to hold him, touch him, or look at him. To say that it was a hard week for me emotionally and physically wouldn't even begin to describe how I felt. I was hurting on the outside because my bosoms had tripled in size and were getting no relief. And on the inside I was struggling to accept the fact that I would never nurse another baby again.
If you know me (and my mother and sister for that matter) we are a family of nursers. We nurse our children longer than what is commonly accepted in North America, and we do not apologize for it. Jacob was 16 months old when he quit nursing which would be about nine months too long for most women. But it was our thing. The only time I could hold him and share that special nursing bond. So it was hard to have him be done without being able to emotionally prepare myself. But it was also a blessing in some ways. It was his choice, not mine. He was ready and let me know. There were no "last time nursing tears" shed. And now he can enter nursery without feeling like less of a child because his crazy mom was still making him nurse even though he was ready to move on.
And even though my boobs resemble saggy, deflated balloons that have lost their elasticity, it's okay. Because they have served a good cause. They have fought a good fight. I sacrificed my body for a good portion of six years to carry and feed my children and it was worth it.
If you know me (and my mother and sister for that matter) we are a family of nursers. We nurse our children longer than what is commonly accepted in North America, and we do not apologize for it. Jacob was 16 months old when he quit nursing which would be about nine months too long for most women. But it was our thing. The only time I could hold him and share that special nursing bond. So it was hard to have him be done without being able to emotionally prepare myself. But it was also a blessing in some ways. It was his choice, not mine. He was ready and let me know. There were no "last time nursing tears" shed. And now he can enter nursery without feeling like less of a child because his crazy mom was still making him nurse even though he was ready to move on.
And even though my boobs resemble saggy, deflated balloons that have lost their elasticity, it's okay. Because they have served a good cause. They have fought a good fight. I sacrificed my body for a good portion of six years to carry and feed my children and it was worth it.
1 comment:
even though i don't have kids and don't understand the nursing bond - this post nearly brought me to tears.
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