Or rather, on Monday, I was done. For forever? I’m not sure. I do wonder.
Unbeknownst to both of us, Violet nursed for the last time on Monday, two days after she hit the 11 month mark. It’s been a very long last couple of weeks -- her sickness was so hard on us…stressful pragmatically because she was fever-y and refused bottles and most solid food (I ended up upping my nursings, even though I really wasn’t sure much was coming out), but moreso emotionally. It was so sad to see our poor little panda bear so limp and sad. We carried her around for several days straight, as that was the only thing that would console her.
And the timing of it was a little stressful because just when I was about to shut down the milk bar (anticipating my trip to Nashville tomorrow), Vi got sick and nursing was the only thing that would appease. I started to get a little worried last week, as her sickness and disinterest in bottles stretched out.
But Vi is finally back. She’s laughing, she’s cheerfully getting into trouble. Yesterday for the first time in two weeks she pounded back 4-ounce bottles again (she only took a few sips per feeding for several days, and then it was a major victory to get her to drink one ounce!). What a relief. And so I didn’t nurse at all. And there we were.
I feel both relieved and a little nostalgic. Was that it? Am I done nursing forever? Will we have another baby? I have no idea. But right now, I will simply celebrate Violet’s excellent health, the fact that I was able to nurse her for 11 months (I am acutely aware of how fortunate we were to be able to do that), and the fact that this time around, I was able to free myself of guilt and stigma as it relates to formula. What a gift it’s been, to do this again.
And meanwhile, oh yes, I will celebrate these delicious chubby haunches.