And suddenly, our baby is not a baby anymore. She's an almost-walking, almost-talking, fully-weaned little girl. She can feed herself and fall asleep on her own and signal when she's all done and call out "da da!" when Will comes home from work. Infancy is over.
I'm a little sad. Nursing for thirteen months, while inconvenient at times, was so very intimate and special. No matter what else was happening, if she was sick or sleepy or cranky, or if we were stuck in a crowded space that was overwhelming her, we always had this little place to go to, just her and me. Those first few weeks of snuffly single-mindedness gave way to bright eyes watching me and little hands pulling my hair while she nursed. After she started solid food, it was still a sort of "home base" for us if things got too newfangled. Even when we were down to just one nurse a day, at night before she went to bed, it settled her and I liked to think it made her feel safe and comfortable. Part of me will always miss those sweet, simple moments.
But you'd better believe I am buying a new bra tomorrow.