When M refused to nurse a few days after T was born, I felt like my heart was ready to break; partly with guilt that having birthed a new baby I’d inadvertently deprived M of the nourishment he still craved and deserved, and partly with fear of loosing such a precious aspect of our relationship and damaging the developing one between he and his baby brother. Four months later, there is none of that guilt, and though I’m grieving the end of our breastfeeding journey, for both M and I it is the right time to end. As I watch him hold hands with his brother as he reads him a story and feel him relax into my neck as I hold him to sleep, I know that these past few months were a necessary, beneficial chapter to our bonding all together and were worth every tear cried and nipple bitten. And though he still doesn’t quite understand why he isn’t drinking Mummy’s milk, the tenderness with which he strokes T’s little head while he nurses during the day makes me sure it will turn out ok.
I’m so proud of you, Babyone. Thank you.