As I observe you restlessly turning in your sleep, I can’t help but wonder if you grasp the significance of this evening. I dressed you in your sleepsack, read you stories, and kissed you goodnight, just like any other night. But tonight marks a bittersweet milestone — it was the last time I nursed you.
This moment has been slowly approaching. We gradually reduced feedings, transitioning from an always-available buffet to scheduled meals for morning, nap, and bedtime. You adapted remarkably well to dropping the naptime feeds last weekend, thanks to a little distraction from Daddy. This week, you even slept through your usual 5:15 a.m. wake-up without the frantic pointing toward the glider that had become your signature call for milk. So, we bid farewell to that morning session, although I did have to bring you a sippy cup and toast to convince you it was time to move on.
Thursday night was particularly memorable. Without the distraction of my phone, I focused entirely on you, wanting to etch every detail into my memory. You played your little game of lifting my hand for a kiss, breaking into giggles and repeating the action, each moment feeling precious as I knew it was coming to an end.
With the decision made that tonight would be the last nursing session, I felt it was the right moment. You’ve grown increasingly independent, showing a preference for sippy cups and cuddles rather than breastfeeding. As the night progressed, my anxiety grew. I realized this would be our final shared experience — something uniquely ours for the past 16 months.
Fifteen months. 509 days. Those days were filled with a unique bond, filled with challenges, joy, tenderness, and yes, pain. I remember the battles with plugged ducts and mastitis, the struggles with low milk supply that had me triple-pumping at work to ensure you had enough for the next day. There were late-night nursing sessions and feeding in public, where I went from shyness under a cover to confidently nourishing you in restaurants and even on airplanes.
During those 509 days, I held you close, marveling at your little rounded cheeks and button nose. I noticed the way you moved your mouth or raised your eyebrows in delight as you drank. But it was never about dramatic moments; it felt so natural, so ingrained in our lives that it became part of who I am.
As we sat together tonight, I found a sense of calm and gratitude for this journey. I was thankful that I could do what I always wanted and what many women are unable to achieve. I secretly wished you would drift off to sleep nursing, as you often had before. Those moments when the mundane turned magical, and I’d find you peacefully asleep while I lost myself in distractions. But in recent days, I had been weaning you off that habit, so tonight was special.
As I cradled you, you asked for the familiar comfort in your polite manner, jabbing my chest and lifting my shirt. I looked into your eyes and told you it was the last time — that after tonight, we would not do this anymore. You nodded as if you understood, making my heart believe you did.
As I held you, memories of our early days flooded back — the thrill of that first latch, the comfort of carrying you while you nursed, the playful bites that marked your teething phase, and the way you learned to signal when you wanted to nurse.
As the minutes slipped by, I felt the tension building; you seemed restless, unable to settle into sleep while the urge to suckle lingered. I realized then that I needed to be the one to end this chapter. And so, I gently pulled you away. Instantly, you snuggled in close and fell asleep, and the tears I had been holding back began to flow freely.
This was it. Our last nursing session had come to a close. Tomorrow, you would wake and likely ask for more, pointing toward the glider. I’d distract you with toast, counting down to bedtime. I worry about how you’ll react when the time comes. Though I hope you understood tonight, deep down I know you might not. I’ll have to hold back tears as you express frustration in your own little way, and I don’t want you to think it’s your fault. It isn’t.
You are the reason we’ve had this beautiful, exhausting, and memorable journey together. For 16 months, I was your source of nourishment, comfort, and love. Tonight may have marked the end of our nursing, but my love for you will never cease. Tomorrow, I will continue to show you that you are my everything, and together, we will navigate this new phase.
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Summary:
This heartfelt narrative reflects a mother’s emotional journey as she nurses her child for the last time. It delves into the bond formed through breastfeeding, the challenges faced, and the bittersweet acceptance of change as the child grows more independent. Though the nursing relationship ends, the mother’s love and commitment remain steadfast as they transition into a new phase of their relationship.