It seems like this was yesterday.
Except, it wasn’t. It was eight months ago, and a lot has changed
He gave up breastfeeding this week.
I am…conflicted about it. Not because I’m worried about having to feed him formula (we’ve been down that road before), but because it signals the beginning of the end for me. The end of him being a baby. He’s growing so quickly and becoming a freaking toddler and, as difficult as it is, I like the baby stage. I really, really do. Every day he does something new, grows a little bit more, and gets further and further from the baby stage. He doesn’t want to breastfeed anymore. He wants to eat bagels and pizza and crackers and he probably even wants to drink beer.
He’s my last baby. As hard as it is for me to type that sentence, I know it’s true. I won’t ever be pregnant again, or give birth, or have a newborn, or breastfeed another child. Unless I go all Rebecca DeMornay in “The Hand That Rocks the Cradle.” Which would never happen, I don’t like breastfeeding *that* much.
Thankfully, he’s so adorable and fun lately that it pretty much makes up for the fact that he refuses to remain a tiny little baby. Even if I am a little sad to see it all end.