Almost a Big Girl
My baby is a big girl now.
Yesterday, early in the morning, fresh from sleep and covered in smiles, Turtle politely decided not to nurse.
For this past month, our only nursing snuggle time has been that lazy time just upon awaking. For me, this was perfect. I did not have to wear nursing cl0thes during the day and she was not dependant on me for bedtime or naptime any more, but I could still have our morning snuggle -- something I am more attached to than she is.
Now, that is all over. She's a big girl now. She can drink from a glass, draw pictures, can climb into the stroller and close buckles and open Ziploc bags and wash windows and wipe her tray and blow out candles. And she doesn't need my milk. Not any more.
I'll still offer it, when I get her from her crib, so irresistable and warm in the mornings. Maybe, out of habit, or polite indulgence, she will nuzzle a bit, casually.
Then, in the warmth of my bed, I can grab a few seconds of what I'm missing. The smell of her hair, the wiggle of her little bare feet against my leg, the soft hands touching my arm.
She'll soon spring up, eager to play and run and forget about this nursing thing, that doesn't even give her more than a mouthful of milk. And there really are SO many other things to do!
And I'll sigh.
It's okay. Mothers have watched their babies change to children and then to young women and men from time immemorial. It's the story of life. In the bittersweetness of my heart I am one with all those mothers that for ages have felt their heart strings pulled to the point of pain, as the little one they held and rocked, laughed and ran away from their arms to explore the broadening world.
Then I think of the new little one, so small and silent growing in my womb, and the pain is lessened. I will soon have another one to hold and love and nurse once more. And though the small baby inside me can never replace my Turtle, my first love, he or she will be an amazing new person to meet who will stretch my love, double it and make me the richer for it.
Yesterday, early in the morning, fresh from sleep and covered in smiles, Turtle politely decided not to nurse.
For this past month, our only nursing snuggle time has been that lazy time just upon awaking. For me, this was perfect. I did not have to wear nursing cl0thes during the day and she was not dependant on me for bedtime or naptime any more, but I could still have our morning snuggle -- something I am more attached to than she is.
Now, that is all over. She's a big girl now. She can drink from a glass, draw pictures, can climb into the stroller and close buckles and open Ziploc bags and wash windows and wipe her tray and blow out candles. And she doesn't need my milk. Not any more.
I'll still offer it, when I get her from her crib, so irresistable and warm in the mornings. Maybe, out of habit, or polite indulgence, she will nuzzle a bit, casually.
Then, in the warmth of my bed, I can grab a few seconds of what I'm missing. The smell of her hair, the wiggle of her little bare feet against my leg, the soft hands touching my arm.
She'll soon spring up, eager to play and run and forget about this nursing thing, that doesn't even give her more than a mouthful of milk. And there really are SO many other things to do!
And I'll sigh.
It's okay. Mothers have watched their babies change to children and then to young women and men from time immemorial. It's the story of life. In the bittersweetness of my heart I am one with all those mothers that for ages have felt their heart strings pulled to the point of pain, as the little one they held and rocked, laughed and ran away from their arms to explore the broadening world.
Then I think of the new little one, so small and silent growing in my womb, and the pain is lessened. I will soon have another one to hold and love and nurse once more. And though the small baby inside me can never replace my Turtle, my first love, he or she will be an amazing new person to meet who will stretch my love, double it and make me the richer for it.
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