Letting go is the hardest thing indeed

When you were born, I started furiously pumping breast milk with the intention of filling our deep freezer with enough to last three months beyond the three months of my maternity leave. I wanted to ensure that you'd at least get your 6 months worth of breast milk because I had read that if one could, one should at least try breastfeeding for that amount of time. I was convinced that once I went back to work I'd be unable to pump on a regular basis and it would be weeks before my supply of milk was gone.

A year later, you were still nursing like a champ and showed no signs of weaning yourself. The doctor said that it was essentially up to me to decide. I decided to hold off on weaning because the bond we had was something I wasn't ready to test. It was by far my favorite time of day - you in my lap, stroking my arm as you nuzzled me, sometimes putting you hand on my face and looking lovingly into my eyes. I wish I could capture those moments in my memory forever.

And then there were days when I just wanted my body back, when I was tired of feeling like a cow. Add to that the fact that you had yet to sleep through the night on a steady basis... And yet I kept putting it off, hoping you'd just reach a point when you'd get tired of "baby ma," as you called it. I made myself the promise that if you hadn't weaned yourself by the age of two, I'd have to do it.

You turned two last Sunday. In preparation for both myself and you, I whispered into your ear at night as you nursed that you were a big boy and "baby ma" was for babies. I whispered that big boys drank milk. I whispered and I cried as you trustingly gazed into my eyes and stroked my arm as you drifted off to sleep. I even finally got your dad to snap a picture because I realized that there were none of you nursing and wanted to have something to hold on to.

It's day 2 now. Day 2 of our trial. I say "our" because I'm suffering as much as, if not more than you. I'm bawling as I type these words while you're sound asleep after I failed to put you to sleep for the second day in a row and daddy had to step in instead. I'm crying because I'm afraid that this step will somehow sever our bond. What if you won't let me put you to sleep anymore? What if you no longer need me? I realize that most of these fears are unfounded but they are real, they are real to me.