A few weeks ago, I realized it had been almost a week since my 2 year-old had nursed. I felt emotionally conflicted. On the one hand, I was relieved to be done. On the other, my heart ached because I couldn’t remember when the last time was. It was just suddenly over. One day I couldn’t stand it anymore so I decided we needed to have one last nursing that I would remember just like I remember our first. It was beautiful and I soaked up every minute of it. I decided to write it down so I can come back and read it and remember.
A warm morning light glided through the window, awakening me to the moment.
The robins and black birds chirped from their nests in the trees and hopped around on the ground collecting pear tree seeds whistling while they worked.
We sat down on the couch and I scooped him up onto my lap and snuggled him close.
“This will be our last time for mamas, ok?”
He looked up at me with a half-open anticipating mouth and perhaps a slight understanding of the significance my words.
While he nursed with glee, I delved into his deep brown eyes, looking back on the love we’d cultivated over almost three years.
I caressed his skin, still smooth but not quite as new as his fresh newborn skin, tougher and thicker after two and half years living on the outside.
I ran my fingers slowly through his hair, letting each hair run through my fingers like the sand of time.
I swept my hand down the length of his body, now longer and sturdier, remembering the first time I held his slippery wet body against my own.
I cradled his feet in my hands, the same feet that used to kick at me from underneath layers of skin and muscle tissue, keeping me awake at night and reminding me there was a life other than my own in me.
I brought his feet up to my lips, kissing them tenderly, wondering what adventures and roads they would travel on.
I twirled his toes between my fingers proceeding down the row of all the “Little Piggies” going this way and that with a surprise sneak attack tickle under the armpit.
He broke off with a sideways giggle, trying to continue nursing while simultaneously laughing; dribbles of thick milk ran down his chin.
Even though he’d hardly nursed anymore I guess there was still a little left in there; the chunky remnants from the bottom of the carton.
I thought about picking up my phone, checking for emails or any exciting status updates.
Nope. This is the only moment that matters right now. The phone and all its instantaneous current events will always be there. This is my status update, this is my now.
So we sat there, together, soaking in the sacred silence and profound beauty of that moment.
I took a long deep breath in, sucking up every single detail of the moment and tucking it carefully in my box of special memories, hoping to come back to it from time to time and cherish.
This one. I prayed. May I keep this moment forever, please?
I lifted my head to stretch my neck, and gazed out the window. The morning light poked through the trees and a gentle breeze twirled from branch to branch, shaking the tiny and delicate white pear blossoms off as it went.
I watched the thin blossoms glide slowly through the air, like a light spring-time snow. It was my favorite part of spring when the blossoms first cracked out of their buds and slowly stretched themselves out creating a lovely Monet landscape right out my window.
A simple piece of beauty that lasted but a fleeting moment until the blossoms reached maturity and then the winds blew in to carry them away and usher in a new stage of growth for the tree.
The blossoms slowly detached from the stems that had given them life and protection, although a few stubbornly clung to their stems. They landed softly and covered the ground in a silky white blanket. I knew the same time had come for my own baby blossom happily gulping every last ounce.
It was time to let go of this precious time we’d had to bond and nourish each other. The winds of time brushed over us and suddenly, POP! He unlatched, looked up at me with a satisfied smile, rolled off my lap and happily hopped onto his next adventure.
“The moment was over, the blessing forever.”
2 Replies to “One Last Breastfeeding with my Two-Year-Old”
What a BEAUTIFUL reflection!!
Thanks Michelle, it was a beautiful end to a beautiful beginning of that part of or relationship.