So - we're done, Girlio and I. I weaned her. For many reasons - the most important for me being, I really really needed my body back. Not just in the freedom from ugly nursing bras way (although that too), but more in the realm where body and emotions are inextricably tied up, in the way that greater physical space frees up some emotional space.
This was all somehow made easier by the fact that my doc thought a particular antidepressant would be good for me which was not deemed safe for breastfeeding. In a way I think this saved me from a lot of the guilt I might have otherwise carried from not letting my Girlio wean on her own terms. It wasn't nearly as grueling (for either of us) as I'd thought it would be. We switched to a bottle of warm milk for bedtime, and when she asked for 'milky', I told her it was all gone now. Shocking me completely, my steadfastly insistent breast lover accepted this entirely and moved on. Funnily, days three and four were the most difficult for both of us (just like quitting smoking! Weird).
We're somewhere around eight or nine days in now. Though I wonder when my poor breasts will stop aching (really - they freaking hurt!), I mostly feel relieved. I actually don't miss the closeness of it, though I worried that I would, because we have do many other ways of snuggling and loving each other up. There is though, along with the aching breasts, a certain wistfulness, a sharp edge or two. This was my last baby. I will never breastfeed again. That kind of finality is always tough to reconcile completely.
But I've spent a total of 37 months breastfeeding my two babes. And I think that's been good enough for these babes. And I think that's been good enough for this mama, too.
So - as soon as we get past the physical pain of weaning (which I really, really, really and sincerely hope is soon!) - I'm gonna celebrate the return of physical (and emotional) space, fancy bras, and 'the girls' being mine all mine once again.
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