So, after a lot of stress and love, Abraham weaned himself. A week after his 18 month-iversary, he pulled my shirt back over my breast when I offered it to him before nap. And again before bed. And again the next morning. And then I didn’t offer. And he didn’t ask.
It is bittersweet, but mostly sweet. We ended our nursing relationship on his terms, which, I believe, is the best way to nurse at all. It was for him, not me. I just received the benefit of hours of sweet baby time.
The only bitterness is selfish. I wanted to be a person who nursed a 3 year old. I believe in that, and I wanted to live it. I also wanted to hear what he called nursing. His (older) nursing friends say “Milks” or “Mommy Juice” or something, and I was curious to hear what he’d say. These things are not big deals at all.
He still puts his hand on my breast when he is tired or upset, which is sweet. I see it as part of the weaning process. He started his life inside of me, and he is slowly making his way away. I hope I can be present for him but let him find his own way.