Yesterday I didn't nurse Margot.
It wasn't the first day she hasn't nursed, especially now that I'm traveling a bit. But it was the first time that I've been home and not nursed.
I figured the book tour would be a good excuse to wean her, but every time I come home, I give in.
I've been ambivalent about it for awhile now - on one hand refusing to pack my breast pump and enjoying the feeling of having my body back but on the other finding myself hand expressing due to the freaking pain and desperately missing that special moment with her.
Nursing wasn't particularly difficult for me, aside from engorgement, scabs, and TED diet I endured the first time around. But with each kid, it got easier, and as each kid got older, it actually became enjoyable, especially when they didn't necessarily rely on me as their sole food source.
And really, it's kind of nice having the little extra help in the calorie burn department.
Considering I've breastfed for a total of 53 months since Quinlan was born, it's really not surprising that it's just become second nature.
And I definitely have the nipples to show for it.
I unabashedly rejoiced when I finally weaned Quinlan, and I had no love lost for it when Drew was done.
But last night I sobbed as I rocked her and then gently placed her in the crib. Her head resting on my breast, not her mouth on it.
Considering she's been the easiest of the three, it's not shocking that I find myself desperately wishing that she would stay a baby.
So for now, I'll just enjoy that I can still hold her comfortably in my arms.
And hey, at least I know what I can do with my extra breastmilk.