transition

Three and a half days ago was the last time I nursed Quinn. She was ready for a nap and Declan was in the playroom running his cars across the rug. In an attempt to keep him occupied and quiet, I laid a blanket down on the rug in the room right beside Declan. We put a pillow under our heads and a blanket on Quinn and she nursed. She was out in minutes; she usually is.  Nursing is like a drug for her. She can be wide awake and bouncing one minute and asleep the next...if nursing is involved. I got up and covered her again. She was wearing her pink ballet outfit and her pink ballet shoes and she slept peacefully for an hour and a half. Right there on the den floor. Where she nursed for the last time.

I didn't really plan for it to happen that way. It just did--which is kind of what I'd hoped for all along. It was a really hot that day. As bedtime was approaching, I knew it would take her longer to go to sleep because she had napped. I also knew that meant she'd want to nurse--for a long time. I was hot and touched out and I just didn't feel like dealing with it so I told her we weren't nursing. She got a little upset but I just told her it was too hot to nurse. Then I laid with her for the next hour as she worked her way into sleep without the one thing that has put her to sleep for the past two years and ten months. The next morning she asked to nurse, which we never do in the morning, but I knew she'd missed it from the night before. I distracted her as we went downstairs for breakfast. Then two more days passed much like the first. She asks when she's tired and I tell her that we are finished. We talk about her being almost three and so big and so strong. She tells me she's not big. She's a baby. But just because she really wants to nurse. But she's fine really. She moves on and goes to sleep just fine cuddled up beside me.

Tonight she hurt her foot badly. She was so tired, so hurt and just upset. Typically it would have been prime time to nurse. She wants it for comfort and for sleep. It's a sure fire way that she can zone out. I carried her upstairs. We washed her foot, put coconut oil on it and a purple sock--because she really likes purple socks right now. I wanted to scoop her up, put her in bed with clean pajamas on and nurse her to sleep. Any other day, that's what I would have done. She would have been completely calmed down and asleep in minutes. But not tonight. I put her pjs on, we went back downstairs, said good night to everyone. She brushed her teeth, went to the bathroom and we climbed into her bed. She asked if she could nurse. I lay there between her and Isabella and reminded her that we don't do that anymore. Isabella looked at her sweetly and said "I was little and I nursed too Quinn. But then I got bigger and I don't do that anymore either! How about you just drink something in the morning. Do you want a smoothie, or maybe water? Or you can drink some milk in a sippy cup." Quinn said she wanted a smoothie and then babbled on about any and every thing under the sun. Put her head on my shoulder and fell asleep.

So we have entered into a new phase of life. Of motherhood. I've been nursing for the past six years, almost exactly. Isabella nursed for two and a half years, thirteen of those months, tandem with Declan who nursed until 18 months. I had a little three month hiatus there as I neared the end of my pregnancy with Quinn and then we began our almost three year stretch of our nursing relationship.
I have so many strong feelings and convictions about breastfeeding. I attribute it to a lot of my kid's health as well as other things. Nursing was always there when they were too sick to eat or drink. It was our guaranteed nutrition. It was a guaranteed "band aid" to any cut, scrape or bruise. It worked for keeping them quiet during a movie, distracted during a long wait, and always--always, a sure fire way to put them all to sleep. So many times I wished that we were just done. I never went a day without doing it and sometimes I was just over it. But now that it is over, I realize how much more it meant to me than maybe I realized. Maybe it's the hormones of stopping something that my body has been doing for six years or maybe it's the fact that our baby is so not a baby anymore--now in every way, but it's hard. I guess in a way, we didn't prepare for this--I didn't prepare for this. There was no mental preparedness, no "let's talk this through," no real finality. But now it's final. The more days that pass, the more I know that she is done.

I'm not positive that I won't ever nurse another baby again. But right now, our now baby has completed that tiny, in the grand scheme of things, (but so huge) part of her life.
In dealing with this transition, I have also come to realize what a nursing relationship creates. I was the only one that gave that one thing to our three kids. We counted on only each other for only that. There were no bottles taken, no pacifiers accepted, so what only I could give them soothed them in so many ways.

I'll never forget the feeling of leaving Quinn, who had just turned one, to go be with Genivieve when she was having Zoey. I knew I couldn't leave her for more than a few hours, so shortly after mom and I headed to Norfolk, Ryan, Kelly and all of the kids followed behind so they could be close, so I could nurse Quinn. When they arrived at midnight, I quickly bolted from the hospital so I could go to her and still be back to be with Gen. So much of everything we did revolved around our nursing relationship. It was consuming. Now it is not.

I hope my girls experience this feeling that I experienced with them. I know it's uncomfortable for some to even fathom a nursing two and a half year old. But when she's in my arms, she's not a walking, talking toddler. She's my baby just as she was two and a half years ago. That part just doesn't change. She never seemed too old or too big. She was just Quinn--doing what she wanted and needed--and me, just being there for her in that way.

I guess what I have realized is that it is so deeply and utterly personal that I can't even expect someone to understand this feeling that we've shared and that we now share since it is over. I'm having a hard time. Quinn--I think she's just fine. Stages are hard. Outgrowing them is sometimes an answered prayer and sometimes a transition that takes more time than you expected. This one will be a transition, but I think we're ready for it.