I have just finished breastfeeding my 15-month-old son and I’ll be honest – I’m devastated.
See I’m one of those incredibly lucky mums who never had any issues breastfeeding. Both my children latched on straight away and fed easily. I never had supply issues or mastitis – not even a cracked nipple. Freak right?!
I don’t want this to come across like a BF brag. I just want to explain why I loved it so much. It was easy, it just happened. When my daughter was born, I plonked her on my chest and she snuffled around a bit until she found what she was looking for and away she went!
It never bothered me that it took her half an hour to drain each side in the beginning. I spent the time binge watching Grey’s Anatomy (yeah, I’m one of the few who still care about Meredith and Derek – RIP).
Then as she sped up, I would just get lost in her beautiful little face – didn’t even pick up my mobile phone. And it was exactly the same with my son – possibly even more so because I knew he would be my last.
The last feeder’s the sweetest
My husband and I split just after he was born, so I was left to juggle a tiny baby and three-year-old on my own. I did the night feeds and settled both when they woke.
While it was exhausting, it just strengthened our little unit and made me appreciate even more the time that I spent with my son tucked up to my breast.
He was always a quick feeder – typical boy – so I cherished the snatches of time that we had together, just the two of us.
The rule in my house was always that my daughter had to stay out of the room when mummy was feeding. It didn’t always work – she would often commando crawl into the room like I couldn’t see her – but for the most part she respected that time.
That was our cuddle time, our precious moment where his little body tucked perfectly into mine with a look of pure contentment on his little face.
Our precious quiet time together. Source: supplied.
There’ll still be cuddles, but they’re different now
I probably encouraged my son to feed longer than he was really interested because I knew once he stopped, that was it. So I let him wean himself, but even knowing it could happen any day hasn’t taken the sting out of it.
Although, the thought of throwing away those beige maternity bras is not without its romance and life is certainly easier. We can get out the door quicker in the morning, I can gorge myself on spicy food and sure, I can now enjoy a glass of wine – or three – on a night out with friends. But I’m still going to allow myself the time to grieve the fact that my little man is no longer interested in boobs. Well at least for another 13 years…