I am not some LLL (La Leche League) nazi, or an earth mother; I'm actually as far from those two things as one could imagine. I just like to nurse my kid. I like to connect with the one who often gets lost in the bustle of the day. My baby boy who just sits and looks around with his gummy grin. The little man who makes everyone's day just a little big brighter. He doesn't fuss or cry or complain. And unlike his sister, he doesn't request, demand, inquire or usurp. So we go about our day and he goes from place to place, until it is time to eat. Then it is our time.
I can connect with him, and apologize for the time he spent in an exersaucer or a bouncy. I can whisper quietly to him and tell him all the things I wish and hope for him without any interruption. Zoe respects his nursing and respects his time. She'd rather play or, if I'm feeling particularly generous, watch tv.
It is getting close to 6 months, which is the length of time I said I would nurse Oliver. My body must have been listening, because my milk seems to be drying up, and Oliver is getting more and more frustrated when he nurses. I don't know if I'm completely ready to give it up, and I'll try to hold on to the morning and night feedings as long as I can, but I can feel it slipping away from me, and I am much more sad than I thought. I'm not sad to stop nursing, because frankly it is getting annoying, but I am going to miss that time. The time when it is just the two of us and we are doing our thing. My little man, the perfect boy.
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