I've been either pregnant or nursing for 75 months out of my 102 months of marriage. And it has been all lumped together. The month I weaned Harry, I became pregnant with Chilly. As of right now, my little Chilly has been weaned for almost 2 months. I was ready to wean him. I felt done.
As I tucked him into bed last night, prepared for the nightly ritual of cuddling him until he falls asleep, he told me it was okay to go. IT felt odd to just kiss him goodnight and leave him. I checked him about 5 minutes later, and he was out. Snoring blissfully in the land of dreams.
I am very happy that he has adjusted so well. I am happy that he doesn't need to nurse all night, or nurse to sleep. But in a very unexpected and weird way, I miss it. I miss my little boy nursing. There I said it. I know, I know, I am a freak. Who in the world would miss nursing after 30+ months of doing it? I miss his cute little smile as he would ask me "nursie mom?". I guess I miss the other part of it too, the fact that I no longer have a baby. He has grown up just a little bit. He has changed.
I'm okay with change, when it is me that does it.
I know what you are going to say, "time for another baby", and although I would be happy with that, I think I need some time to mourn. To mourn the passing of my 2nd born from babyhood into childhood.