After today Alexander will have gone without momma's milk for a full week. Some
days moments are easier than others. This morning he woke up begging for milk and he howled down the moon when I told him there was no milk left for him (there is, but somehow we've reached the point of no return...after he willingly skipped nursing on Friday (didn't ask a single time) and then went the weekend with a lot of help from Daddy (the king of distraction) and suddenly here we are...).
It was a rough start to our day, but we got through it.
He had waffles and oatmeal for breakfast (anything you want, kid).
Yesterday afternoon when it was far too late to take a nap, he came to me and begged for snuggles.
"I want a nap," he said and even though it was far too late for such a thing I told him we could lie down together for a few minutes before dinner (I wasn't feeling well, anyway).
"But you can't have any milk," I told him (he has never taken a nap without nursing, which means he hasn't taken a nap this entire week (so it's been a long week)).
"I don't want milk," he said. "I just want you."
He nestled in for some snuggles and soon fell fast asleep.
And I think he's going to be okay. I think we're going to be okay.
Weaning's always a bit of an emotional time but it's extra emotional this time around, the last time.
I wrote a poem one night a few weeks ago, when I was having trouble falling asleep (as per my usual) and was feeling particularly sad about knowing it was time to wean my walking, talking, potty-trained, nursery-going little
baby boy. Once again, I don't know if it's any good but it felt good to write it, so there's that (also: I'm still so nervous about this forthcoming book of poems because while they all felt good to write I'm worried about sharing them):
The last weaning
Is this how Jack’s cow felt?
Old and tired
And so sad.
Am I good for nothing now?
Trade me in
Do those even exist?
Inside of me—
Once upon a time—
There was a dream
A wish, a plan.
I hope it sprouts.
Now that the cow’s untethered,
Now that the milk’s gone.
I love that poem! My editorial eye only notices one thing I would fix to call it book worthy. I will tell that to you and you alone.ReplyDelete