As my little chunk turned 9 months yesterday, we hit the end of a milestone. I’m officially done nursing him.
I know I should be thankful that I made it 9 months, but the reason I stopped wasn’t that I wasn’t producing milk, it’s not because I don’t want to, it’s that my sweet little Ian has taken to biting, and three times, drawing blood.
Yeah, I’m done letting my nipples be a chew toy for the oinker.
But, even though I’m a little mad at the sweet baby, I can’t stay mad for long. Especially when last night he wanted nothing more than to nurse, and at 3am I’m dragging my butt out of bed, making a bottle, and trying to convince him to take it. He didn’t want the bottle, he wanted the snuggle. Plus, his belly ached, and we wound up on the couch with him only sleeping in an exact, strangely placed position. And if I dared to try to move, forget it.
Even though I’m the one who has to come to work and stumble through the day, chugging coffee and wishing for a drip line, I’m sad for my baby who didn’t understand why mommy wouldn’t just hurry up and pop the boob in his mouth.
I’m blessed to have made it 9 months when there are so many mom’s who wish they could nurse and can’t. And I’m lucky that I was able to give my son nine months of liquid gold. And, I’m lucky that I’m able to produce large amounts of milk from the pump so I’ll be able to give him just a bit more breast milk. But, I’m still sad.
Now, I have to get used to the idea of buying formula. YIKES!