Adventures of a Breastfeeding Mother: Two Too Soon

My dearest Guppy,

This morning started out like any other day: you woke up and we lay in bed together, you nursing contently and me looking at the clock, impatiently wondering how soon you would be done so I could get up and start my busy day.

That's when it hit me: today is Friday, September 26th: your birthday.

Still nursing and only half awake, you rolled onto your side, kicked your leg up onto my waist, and grabbed a handful of my hair. Your favorite nursing position. I stopped looking at the clock and bent down to kiss your forehead and breathe in your sweet scent. Your light colored hair, thick and curly, tickled my nose. Your face so sweet and clean, your eyelids fluttering with sleep, your delicate nose showing signs of both baby and toddlerhood. Your hand clutched my hair, not tiny like a newborn's, but still small and precious.

What an odd stage this is, this period of in-between baby and child. You still need me to nurse you, cuddle you, change you, help you climb, help you do so many things that you've always needed me to do. But now this new aspect of independence is thrown into the mix: you've discovered that you are your own independent person with your own likes and dislikes, wants and desires, and you try to assert that independence as much as possible.

You see things that your older sister does and you want to do them too; but only with my help. We both know you can walk up and down stairs, but you cry until someone carries you down. You get frustrated when I won't let you walk around in stores, but you insist I carry you when we walk outside. You insist on nursing many, many times during the day, but you only nurse for short periods of time. You love to dance, but only when you think no one is looking. You love to sign, but only when you decide to do it, not when someone asks you to.

You love babies, Mickey Mouse (and you really love Mickey Mouse), coloring, reading, running, nursing, and now, talking. Your vocabulary has increased dramatically in the past two months; you are now talking in complete sentences. My favorite sentence? "I love you, Mommy".

You've only been in my life for two years, but it feels like you've always been here. When you came into our world, sweetly and gently into the water and into my heart, you fit so perfectly into our life and our dreams that it was like nothing had changed; you were just there. I can no longer remember what life was like before you; before your soft, sweet weight on my hip; before your smile that beams in my face and makes me laugh; before your sweet gentle voice dancing in my ear like fairies.

I'm sorry I get so impatient with you sometimes. I'm sorry when I annoyingly tell you to "go play" when you are following me around the house, trying to get my attention. I'm sorry I push you to be independent sometimes when I know deep down you are not ready, like with sleeping through the night and nursing less often. Don't listen to me; keep insisting that you want to take your time. I'll try to remember to let you set the pace, to remind myself that I am going to sincerely miss the bed-time nursings and your constant presence following me, reminding me to sit down and relax, to take a break during the day.

The moment you came into this world, you latched on beautifully and began to nurse. A partnership was born between you and I. Our bond came on so quickly and powerfully that it was almost scary how overwhelmed with love I was towards you. That partnership has changed, but the essence remains the same; we need and love one another. Our relationship will continue to evolve and change, but just remember that I am always here for you, no matter what.

By now you have fallen back asleep, but your lips are still moving as though you are nursing in your dreams. I should get up and start my day, but I don't. Instead, I pull the blankets more soundly over the two of us and settle in for a nice long snuggle. Your breathe smells milky and sweet, and my eyes tear up with love. What a pair we make.