Last call at the mommy milk bar was Saturday, February 26.  Miles was 13 months old, and is done nursing.

He seems fine.  Loves the fresh milk we get delivered from the farm in Ipoh that settles into a fine cream at the very top.  He sucks down 3 cups a day through a reused straw from his new RICE cup.  Today when I asked him if he wanted any moo and we went to the fridge he said “yeah. Yeah! YEAH!” all breathy and with much anticipation.  I think he’s totally fine.

I am OK.  Due to the slow slow weaning process, where we went from 3 to 2 to 1 feedings a day over six weeks, I had no engorgement or leaking or pain.  Just a little guilt and sad feelings of my baby’s growing up.  But really, I am great.  Happy to have my body back, even though there is no one I would rather have shared it with (in that way).

I am so grateful for the 13 months I breastfed Miles.  It was a wonderful bonding experience.  It was hard when he refused the bottle (13 months of 100% direct from the source feeding, frustrating at times), hard in the beginning, hard when he would not sleep without it, and when he used his new chompers on me.  Useful when we were traveling, when we moved, when he was sick, and when I needed him to sleep.  Blissful when he would touch my face, meet my eyes, and started signing “milk”.

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