From the very first night I met my baby and fed him for the first time, there was something sacred about it. Breastfeeding was never just about milk. It was our pause. Our quiet. Our little world within the world.
It became our special bonding time, the way he would settle into me, the way his tiny hand would rest on my chest, the way everything else could wait.
And now, I’m closing that chapter.
On the outside, I look strong. But not only am I physically hurting from weaning, I’m aching in places no one can see. I miss that special time with my baby. I miss the familiarity of it. I miss the closeness.
When he was around four months old, he started giving me this smile while feeding, a soft, knowing, almost mischievous little smile. And he kept giving me that smile right up until our very last feed. That smile lives in my heart now.
For the past three nights, I’ve asked my mom to sleep with him. What an angel she is in my life. Truly. I know not everyone has that kind of support, and I don’t take it for granted. But if I’m honest, I miss feeding my baby to sleep. I thought I would enjoy the alone time. I thought I’d stretch out in bed and finally rest.
Instead, on the first night, I couldn’t sleep at all. I lay there wide awake until morning.
Because sometimes the very thing that exhausts you is also the thing that anchors you.
I remember one evening coming home from work in Douglasdale. There was a woman on the corner begging for money, and she was breastfeeding her baby. As my Uber slowed down, I saw that baby doing the same little gestures mine used to do while feeding. My heart melted instantly. In that moment, I knew my husband and I would expand our village one day. There is something so powerful about that connection between mother and child.
Isn’t it wild how life works? There were days I couldn’t wait to stop feeding because my baby was overdoing it, it honestly felt like harassment some days. And now? I miss it. Deeply.
Life is nuts like that.
Soon I’ll probably be emotional about him becoming a full toddler. One day, maybe I’ll even be preparing him to be a big brother. And somehow, that thought comforts me. Because change keeps coming. Seasons keep shifting.
There will always be transitions. Some of them will feel heavy. Some will stretch us. But that is life. That is growth. That is becoming.
I love being a mother to our son. I am so grateful for this chapter, the one I always prayed for, always longed for. Even the ache is a reminder of how deeply I love him.
And maybe that’s the beauty of it all.