Two nights ago, I decided to test Sloan, my 17-month-old daughter.
At bedtime, after her bath and her PJ’s and a kiss “night-night”
from Daddy, we went into her quiet, dark room and sat on our chair, snuggled
in, and I gave her a bottle. I didn’t pull
up my shirt and offer her my milk.
Instead, I offered her a bottle of her almond milk that she loves. There was a glimpse of uncertainty as she
tasted the milk, but it vanished before I could really even recognize it. She drank the bottle happily, and
quickly. So quickly, that when she was
done I eagerly looked around for more, as though I could just make it appear
and make the moment last longer. But she
was happy. She started wiggling in the
way she does when she is trying to tell me she wants in her crib, she is ready
for sleep. I didn’t want to let her go,
this new night-time routine happened way too fast, it was not normal. We normally had 10 to 15 minutes of nursing
and cuddling before I laid her down.
This was over in one minute flat.
Reluctantly, I walked over to her crib and placed her in,
expecting a cry out, a whimper, or something to indicate that she was not ok
with what had just transpired.
Nothing. She rolled over, cuddled
her bear and bunnies into her face as she does, and closed her eyes. Typical behaviour. I stood there for a moment, bewildered, until
I finally accepted that she was clearly ok with this, turned around and tiptoed
out of the room, silently closing the door behind me.
When I came downstairs, Jaime looked at me in surprise,
with the empty bottle in my hand. “That
was it?” he said, confirming to me that it was definitely as quick it felt. “Yep” was all I replied. That was it.
I poured myself a glass of wine and sat on the couch, as
an inexplicable feeling of numbness set over me. That was it.
I am no longer breastfeeding Sloan.
And it happened so easily for her!
When I gave her the bottle, I truly didn’t expect her to
take it. It was a test, that in my
heart I knew she would not pass. So when
she happily accepted the bottle, I was surprised and honestly quite sad.
Everyone talks about how fast they grow. Savour the moments, they say. Before you know it they will be grown, they
say. They don’t say, “the last time you
nurse your child feels like you are taking their tininess and instantly making
it big”.
She runs, she plays, she is beginning to speak. She eats real food, she laughs at funny
things, she climbs everything in sight. She
is a child. She is not a baby. Why does this make me sad? Every day I enjoy her, I love seeing her
grow, I love seeing her learn. Every day
with her gets better. I don’t yearn for
her infancy, I look forward to her future.
I enjoy who she is with every day that passes, and I look forward to
seeing more of her tomorrow. There is no sadness in that.
Two nights ago, after giving Sloan that bottle, and I was
sitting on the couch with my glass of wine and not knowing what to do with
myself, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through Facebook. I came across a link to this article, which
struck me something fierce (http://www.brainchildmag.com/2014/07/now-i-mother-from-a-distance/).
She said it best when she said: “Now
there is a person I can’t wrap in a swaddle blanket and protect from the world”. She nailed it.
My bedtime nursing routine kept me holding on to her
infancy. It was the one time of the day
that she allowed me to hold her tight, cuddle her hard, stroke her cheek and
her arm and rock her sweetly as she lulled off to sleep. Perfectly safe. Perfectly content. I know I can still do these things with a
bottle, but the truth is, I now know she doesn’t need it. Jaime can finally put her to bed, which is
something I’ve claimed to want for months and months now. It’s only a matter of time before the bottle
is weaned off as well. Will she still
want bedtime cuddles? How long will it
be before she no longer fits “baby-style” in my arms? Sometimes I feel I am only a breath away from
report cards and sleepovers.
Despite my reluctance, I am accepting of these
changes. It’s called humanity. It’s called life. She will continue to grow, she is a person
who is evolving into herself each and every moment of each and every day. It is truly a wonder to see. It reduces me to grateful tears more often
than I could ever measure.
I was once asked what the meaning of true love is. At the time, I didn’t really know. I thought of all the typical things, like
patience, understanding, compromise. I
thought of my husband, who I love very much and who loves me. But I still wasn’t sure how to define
it. But now I know. True love is acceptance. Motherhood has taught me that.
