All done.

Dear Theo,
Last week, at 16 and a half months old, you and I decided to end our breastfeeding relationship. I've tried to write this since then, but wanted to be able to do it justice and be able to write it without crying. I hope I can now.

When I was pregnant, I figured I would try to nurse you for at least 6 months, but hopefully a year. The rounder my belly got, the more determined I became. Then you were born. Leigh Ann the midwife helped us get started and I remember her saying, "now, you don't get to munch munch on your mama's nipples like that!" and from then on, we referred to your bad latch and non-nutritive sucking as "munch munching." The beginning was brutal. You cried, I cried, Susan looked helpless and wished she could do something. Your latch was shallow, I was bleeding and in the worst pain of my life. We enlisted midwives, lactation consultants, friends, relatives, anyone that had been successful. I was diagnosed with a rare condition and was put on medication just to get through it. We used nipple shields, breast pads, Boppy pillows, lanolin, heating pads, cold pads - you name it, we used it. And still, we soldiered on, you and I. Everyone kept saying to just hold on for 2 weeks and it would get better. It felt harder than graduate school, it felt harder than childbirth, it felt harder than anything I had ever done before. But, we kept going. And then, it did get better. Not in two weeks, but in six. After six weeks, I was feeling more confident and you were turning into a happy little butterball.

1 year, 4 months, 1 week and 1 day and we have nursed everywhere. In the mall, in fitting rooms, in California Pizza Kitchen (the first time I nursed in public!), at the pool, on the beach, at home and on vacation. At the park, in the Pikkolo, at Easter on Parade, at the Wright Brothers Memorial, at the museum, in church and at LLL meetings. In the car (parked and while someone else was driving), outside in the rockers, on the couch, in our bed, at your grandparents' house, in doctors' offices and at the lake for the 4th of July. And most of all, many times in our chair in your room. And countless, countless other places. We've done it everywhere and anywhere you needed and done it proudly.

For the first 6 months, you had nothing but breastmilk. I look back at your pictures and smile at those chubby thighs, knowing I grew them all by myself. At six months, you started munching on some solids, but still preferred what you had always known. You started eating more as you got older, but were still nursing pretty often until you were a year old. You have never once had even a drop of formula.

Once you turned a year, I looked down at your sweet face nursing one night and realized there was nothing magic about being one year old. You were the same baby you were the day before who still needed your "milky" so, why stop? I decided I'd let you take the lead. For four more months you continued, but our sessions dwindled. Happy and confident, you had a world to explore and nursing seemed to take up your precious time when you could be chasing the dogs, reading books or playing with your toys. Eventually, you only wanted milky right before bed. That was my favorite time. We would sit in our chair and you would nurse and play with my hair or necklace and just get very relaxed before bed. I would read you stories and sing two songs and you eventually learned that at the end of the second song, it was time to go in your crib. You always seemed so heavy and sleepy, it was like magic.

A few weeks before we ended, Mama got pregnant with your little sibling. Nursing got harder as I felt worst in the evening. Things were sore and uncomfortable again and it was reminicent of our early days together. Around this time, the before bed nursing time got shorter and shorter, possibly because my milk was drying up. I knew it was ending. And the last night we nursed, as I struggled to keep you engaged, I looked down at you and told you it was ok if you were done. I was glad you had hung in there as long as you had but understood if this wasn't something you needed anymore. And I really think you understood.

The next night, I told your mom to try putting you to bed without me and see how it went. You went down without so much as a second thought. Like a big boy. I went outside and cried. I was SO SO proud of us, but sad too. Breastfeeding has become a part of who I am and who I am to you. Losing that defining part of our relationship was harder than I thought it would be. It made us special. You and I were doing something that no one else could do. I know we are still special. We will always be special, even though breastfeeding is becoming lots of wonderful memories instead of part of our daily life. I always said I would make it about you and I did. You let me know that you were done and I wanted to honor that. There was no big fanfare and no last picture. In like a lion and out like a lamb.

I miss it. I miss that time with you. I'm so thankful that you have started to lay your head on my shoulder while I sing you our songs before I lay you down. I hope you aren't too busy for that for a long time. I am thankful that breastfeeding has kept you so healthy and made you so smart and strong. I'm thankful every single day of your life that I didn't give up. It was the hardest, most difficult and most incredibly wonderful thing I have ever gotten to do.

As I reflected on our journey together this morning, thinking about the hard early days, having to give up every single food except chicken and mashed potatoes and never being able to be separated from you, a beautiful song came on the radio. I cried again and wished you were there to hug.

I hope if you have a wife someday that you are as big a support to her and your mom was to me. I hope your children will be able to experience this with their mother like we have together. I have loved every minute of it, baby boy. Thank you for sticking with me and making the experience so rewarding. I love you, more than you could ever know.

Love,
Mama

"But it's no sacrifice at all ..." Elton John