Close your eyes. Feel the tide inside, the low rumble of sadness and dirt. Back and forth, as if it might erupt from your tear ducts or pores. You can't always keep all of that debris inside once a hole is created. Here is a little bit of leakage.
I am starting to think this whole weaning process, this breaking Asher from nursing, is just as hard - or harder - for me. For months, I've wanted this beautiful boy to let go already. To not cry for mama so much. To be able to sleep without having his mommy time.
Well, my wish is coming true. Eric and I have been breaking him slowly for a while, but this past week, he's leapt over three logs and hasn't fallen in the water yet (a little "Frogger" reference from childhood). Mommy has been amazed, standing beside the river, cheering him on and drinking her spiked lemonade on the dry, grassy bank.
I guess what's really happened is I've realized he's actually ready to be weaned. He hasn't needed to nurse nearly as often as I thought he did. Or, maybe it's just come on quickly because he is walking. He's even wearing shoes. I mean, his voice might crack any day.
He's outgrowing mommy, or so it feels. And, happy, cheering mommy is now sad mommy. Is now feeling slightly like the giving tree. Take my limbs and take my pulp, dear wonderful son (and I mean wonderful); I'll be fine. Don't worry about me, boy. Take my heart and soul while you are at it. (This is an exaggeration of course, but it is what I sometimes anticipate for my future).
So, the first apron string is being cut. I know that wounds heal, but this is the first true step towards his independence. And, it feels more like a grown-up size step than a baby one.
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