July brought the end of an era for me. I weaned my youngest child. My “this is the last child… again” child. She was two and a half. She’d had a good run. I needed my body back. For the past SEVEN years my body has been restricted because of a teeny tiny human being parasitically sucking the energy out of me in one way or another. First I was pregnant, then I was feeding, then I was pregnant AND I was feeding, then I was pregnant, then I was feeding, then I was pregnant and then I was feeding. Confused? That’s ok, I was a bit confused too. I had been trying to wean slowly and gradually but consistently for quite a few months so when it did happen it happened rather easily. It was such a nice change from when I weaned baby number 2, which was an absolute nightmare. This time we talked about it for months before I finally did say enough was enough. I would say, “you’re a big girl now so you won’t need booby feeds much longer,” to which she would reply, “I’m a baby, goo goo ga ga.” I would then explain that seeing as she was old enough to have that conversation, she was old enough to not need it, and she would laugh, and I would feed her, and life would continue as before.
Until one day.
On Monday the 11th July I went out with the girls from church and I “forgot” to feed the toddler before I left. I noticed that she fell asleep fairly easily for her father and that she slept through the night. Woohoo. Sleeping through the night was still rather hit and miss for her. The next day she didn’t seem worried that she had missed out the night before, so I knew that the time had come. It helped that her best friend had recently weaned also, so we sat down and had a “big girl” chat about how she didn’t need mummy’s milk anymore. She seemed a little sad until I bribed her with juice and she said “no, chips! AND Juice,” and that was that. We were only feeding to sleep anyway, so we skipped day sleep and when the time came for her to go to bed for the night, I conveniently had to “go out” again. I sat in the garage in silence for an hour or so as I wondered if I would get away with it again. I could not tell if I was more excited or emotionally overwhelmed when my husband finally came out triumphantly exclaiming, “she’s down.”
Wednesday night was the notorious “third day challenge.” When 10pm came around and she still wasn’t asleep, I gave in and I fed her a little to calm her down as she was getting mighty distressed, but I pulled her off before she fell asleep and made her go to sleep without it. That was the last time we ever fed. A few days later she tried but she couldn’t be bothered working hard enough to get anything out and that was the end of that. It was all over, or so I thought.
Occasionally my sweet girl would look at me and say, “I want boob boobs.” I would smile at her and say, “boob boobs all gone now bubba, remember?” She would say, “oh yes, cup milk please mum mum,” and all would be fine.
One day, out of nowhere, my gorgeous four year old son looked at me earnestly and said,
“mummy, you know how you say you don’t have any boobies anymore? But I can still see bumps there.”
I don’t think I’ve ever smiled so much in my life. As I explained they would never really disappear, just they would not make milk anymore, I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. Just quietly, I think I was worried they were going to disappear too.
Do you have any funny weaning stories?