“Me want mama milk now,” my son exclaims, bouncing on my bed in his playful dinosaur pajamas, remnants of a holiday past. He’s ready to settle down for the night.
“Let’s go to our special spot,” I reply. He hops over to the corner of our queen bed with a sidecar twin, snuggling into the cozy space just below my pillow.
“Mama milk, mama milk,” he eagerly chirps.
I lie down beside him, loosening my collar. He latches on and curls against me, sucking deeply and contentedly. He’s just 3 years old, and honestly, I couldn’t care less about others’ opinions. Yes, my little one still nurses to sleep—and occasionally in the middle of the night. My older children were night-weaned by 15 months when I was pregnant with their younger sibling. But for Leo, there’s no younger sibling in sight, and no urgent need to wean him. The bed is spacious enough, so why not? So yes, I embrace my 3-year-old like a baby—and I’m unapologetic about it.
If you ask him, he’ll proudly declare, “Me baby.” He often refuses to do things deemed for “big boys,” insisting he’s still tiny. Yet, that doesn’t mean he can’t tackle responsibilities; he’s fully potty trained, achieving this milestone well before his third birthday—much sooner than my older boys, who were both 3 and a half. He’s always reaching for my hand, which is adorable but a bit tricky when I’m managing a purse and two bags of library books. If he’s not holding my hand, he’s grasping his older brother’s.
We still wear him on hikes, too. After a while, he wants a break, and up he goes in a woven wrap. We sometimes carry him during church services because, while he behaves well, a bored 3-year-old can be a handful. After my husband injured his back, he agreed: we need a wrap on hand. Leo goes up in Target and when he’s feeling particularly sad. At just 28 to 30 pounds, he’s not too heavy, but still, it’s a workout.
I breastfeed him, co-sleep with him, and hold his hand whenever I can. Many might view this as excessive, but it works for us for two main reasons: it suits Leo, and it suits me. He loves being the cherished baby, reveling in his cuteness and asking to be held. It brings him joy, and he still craves it. As an attachment parent, I believe he has every right to these comforts as long as they don’t harm him—and they certainly don’t. They provide him with a sense of security and a unique place among his three rambunctious brothers.
There are also deeper reasons for my nurturing approach. Leo is our last biological child. Due to health issues and required medications, having more children isn’t feasible. He’s our final biological baby, though adoption remains a possibility. He represents my last chance to breastfeed, co-sleep, and experience those precious early years. I’m soaking up every bit of baby love I can. I’ll miss nursing, babywearing, and the small hand grasping mine. His little voice, insisting, “I tiny,” will soon fade. In no time, he’ll be hiking on his own and sleeping in his own bed, just like his brothers—who are already growing up way too fast.
I’ve witnessed this transition twice already. First comes 3, then 4, followed by 5, 6, and finally 7. My oldest is already 7, reading chapter books and discussing movies that I can’t stand. His 5-year-old brother is learning to read, too.
So, I’ll hold onto my baby for as long as I can. That doesn’t mean I’ll stifle his growth or keep nursing and wrapping him until he’s 5—that’s not our style. But I will relish every moment of his babyhood. Most importantly, my little one is happy, loved, and cuddled. What more could I give him than that?
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In summary, I embrace every moment of my youngest’s babyhood, cherishing our bond and ensuring he feels secure and loved. After all, these early years are fleeting, and I intend to enjoy them to the fullest.