weaning, kinda

Over the last couple of weeks my nursing relationship with Anya has become somewhat combative. Our days consisted of her demanding milk and me defending my boobs, wanting a few moments without someone ON me. If I was in the room and not nursing her, she was downright pissed. If I got her involved in a game or toy, left the room and returned, my arrival would respark the struggle. I was left feeling stressed and touched out and spent a fair bit of my time fantasizing about getting away from my family. Which isn’t really what I want for any of us.

Then yesterday I suddenly turned to Mark and said in a hushed tone, “I don’t think I’ve nursed her all day.”

“Are you weaning?” He asked.

“I hadn’t planned to, but if she’s going to go with it, so will I.”

That night I nursed her before bedtime, then again this morning. She only asked once or twice during the day but was easily distracted. I nursed her to sleep again tonight. If things go on this way for a while, I’m totally OK with it. My goal was always two years, but I never fully examined what that meant. If it means twice a day then shoot, SIGN ME UP. I’m ready for our relationship to change. Ready to no longer be the mother of a nursling. I’ve been nursing or pregnant (sometimes both) for over four years, so I’m not sure what this will mean for us, but I’m hoping it’ll be all good! Although I’m admittedly afraid to losing those good nursing hormones. The placid cow hormones. The ones that make you grin foolishly and bond like crazy to your tiny person. Good thing I already like them. The kids, I mean.

So yeah. New chapter in parenting. I’m seriously all atwitter.