They = my boobs
Me = the hubs
Baby G is officially not nursing anymore. At all. Ever. And he will bite the shit out of any boob that tries to find its’ way into his mouth. The last time I tried to nurse him was on Christmas, he was so tired and we were out of milk (almond or cow) and I had tons of warm milk, just waiting to be drank. He bit me so hard. So hard. I cried. Needless to say, I haven’t tried since. He hasn’t asked, either.
Some mommy’s might like this. They might be thrilled to be shot of nursing without the hassle of weaning. Not me. I wanted to nurse to at least 24 months. AT LEAST. My plan was to let him nurse as long as he wanted. I guess we succeeded on the plan…
He’s growing up way too fast. I can barely remember the little pudgeball that couldn’t sit. I miss my little sling/tit monkey that never wanted to leave my side. I hate not being his favorite person in the whole wide world, anymore. I loved co-sleeping (another thing he ended earlier than I was ready) and nursing. I guess I should be happy that he’s so independent. I should take it as a sign that I’m doing something right and now he’s confident or something. Most of me knows that. But, a part of me really just wants to sprinkle magic de-aging powder on him and relive that first year over again.