To my weaning toddler, a letter of love.

The bath water turned cloudy with milk from my leaking breasts. They ached to nourish you one last time, but I knew my body could not endure one more session. I had nursed my last baby, this season of my life was over, and as I laid there alone I wept.


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The old rocking chair creaked as I rocked you. Over and over our bodies moved together in rhythm to the wave of the chair. You suckling at my breast one last time. One last time you were my baby girl, needing me to give you the nectar of life. Our eyes met as I told you this was the last time you could nurse. I was in no hurry. Nor were you. We rocked like this for hours until you fell asleep in my arms. As I gazed down I memorized how you looked, what your hair smelled like and how you held you hand against my breast. This was your safe place, and a time we shared that created a bond so deep that couldn’t have come any other way. 

As I laid you in your bed, I thanked my body for being good to you. For providing you nutrition in my womb, and two years after. I blessed your sleep, as I walked away. Knowing I wouldn’t physically die from this ache in my heart to hold you once again, I nestled in bed.

It’s been 24 hours now since I no longer share my body with you. I no longer provide you nutrition. But what I am noticing is there was more to our intimate relationship that breastfeeding. You are more affectionate and loving towards me. And to the contrary, love me more. 

There is a deep freedom I feel in my spirit, letting you grow up into the woman God has called you to be. No more milk for you my daughter, as you were made for meat in this time. Your maturity is beyond your years, and I feel that I have hindered you from growing up.

So blossom. Grow. Mommy is here, and always will be your biggest fan. My lap is open and my arms are wide.

loo

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3 thoughts on “To my weaning toddler, a letter of love.

  1. Awwww. I’m nursing my last baby right now. He’s 16 months (on the 3rd) and I’ll probably wean him when he’s six. Just kidding. But really, I will miss this so much. It’s such a special time between baby and mama. I have ten children and I believe I’ve had the Dolly Parton boobs for the last 23 years. I have no idea what my real boobs look like. I’ve forgotten. I don’t think it matters much, as those old boobs are gone forever, I’m afraid. What will the new ones look like? Deflated balloons, I suppose. But, they’ve done their job and served my babies well. So it’s all good 😉

    Your children are beautiful, as are you. Keep on keeping on, mama. You’re doing a great job 🙂

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