Hallelujah! My Toddler is Weaned (But I’m Gonna Cry)
Mom Content MOMtent*
Weaning a toddler is like a bitter-sweet accomplishment.
No more little sticky hands digging down my shirt. No more attempts at using the free boob as a rattle. No more creatively contorting his body to get to the milk at times that were awkward and inconvenient. Those things I won’t miss at all. But the thought of letting it all go makes me want to cry.
It has been days since I nursed my son. If I knew that the last time would in fact be the last, I would have gazed in his eyes a little longer, curled him up to me a little tighter, and wiggled his toes just a little more. It would all be in attempt to etch those sweet moments into my memory forever.
I remember my first time nursing PJ. I had NO idea of what I was doing. The one thing that I did know was that this was our only option. (I desperately wanted to breastfeed and quite honestly, we couldn’t afford formula.) Because breastfeeding was my only option, it meant that whatever obstacles we encountered our only choice was to overcome.
I remember when my milk first came in like Miley Cyrus on a wrecking ball over Niagra Falls, my chest was feeling all weird from the letdown. It was a new feeling, mostly uncomfortable, but I knew I had to endure. When my nipples were in pain, cracking and bleeding, I slapped that nipple cream on and kept going ….PJ and I learned to breastfeed together.
Like so many mamas, I pumped milk everyday dagg’on day when I returned to work. I longed to hold my baby while filling milk bags, and counting ounces to make sure my baby was fed in my painful absence. When I came home from work, and I hadn’t seen him in more than eight hours, we nursed, we reconnected, we looked into each other’s eyes, he curled his toes, and I wiggled with them. It was medicine to our souls.
My milk, by God’s wonderful design, was a cuddle, a timer, PJ’s morning coffee, food, medicine, a leisurely milkshake, a lullaby, and a reassurance. At times, because of my own insecurities, it was the only thing that I felt distinguished me as his mother.
As I felt the milk flowing, and as I heard his rhythmic little swallows, I knew that a miracle was happening. Not only could I not explain how he grew in my womb, but as an infant he continued to grow as my body fully plenished his in miraculous way. My baby was fluffy from white sweet milk from me – he literally drank the ALL the fluff right out of them because now they look like a hound dogs’ ears.
I didn’t even know these things had so much potential. As a rookie, I got us tangled in nursing covers, and there was a time that my husband looked at me like I was crazy because I unknowingly let a nipple slip out during my first attempt to breastfeed in public…. I kept going… and so did the church service.
Now that the time of nursing my first son has come to an end, I may be feeling a bit down, but my boobs won’t be sad at all. In fact they are having a party. No more leaking, being bit, being pulled, being too full, too empty, or lop sided.
I’ll miss my son swiping his little hand across my chest, but I know that weaning him is an honor. He is growing into a young man that I will one day dance with at his wedding…and this puts me one milestone closer. It’s really that deep for me. While my boobs are on a Hallelujah praise break, I will be missing the chance to sneak in a cuddle with my sweet toddler of growing independence.
A Salute To The Boobs
I salute you moms who breastfeed. You do what it takes for as long as you can. I salute you too boobs… you went from plump melons, to village woman picking melons in a matter of months. You put me in the push up bra market – and that’s okay. It’s okay because this experience was unlike any other.
Personally, I felt that I became more of a woman, more secure as a mother, more confident in my ability to nurture. And if I had to choose between Victoria Secret worthy boobs and village woman — take me to the village! To me, that droopiness is a sign of a mother’s sacrifice. It’s a beautiful badge motherhood. I just didn’t think I would have the Droopy Sacrificial Mom badge at age 25 – but I’ll take it. My first born child is weaned, and one tiny step closer to being the man God has called him to be. Though it’s hard to let go, I’m screaming Hallelujah ANYHOW!
1 Samuel 1:21
When the child was weaned, Hannah took him to the Tabernacle in Shiloh… “Sir, do you remember me?” Hannah asked. “I am the very woman who stood here several years ago praying to the Lord. I asked the Lord to give me this boy, and he has granted my request. Now I am giving him to the Lord, and he will belong to the Lord his whole life.” And they worshiped the Lord there.