It's February 7th. I weaned my second child this week. Tuesday was my last time feeding him and it is hard. It's hard for him, physically painful for me, and emotionally exhausting for me too. I've been using a nursing pillow during feedings since he was little so he got fairly attached to that and knew what it meant if it was out.
On Monday, when I was still feeding him once a day at night, I was sitting on the floor and he took the nursing pillow out of the closet and pulled it onto my lap and climbed in, but it was morning, and we'd already dropped that feeding, so I wasn't going to feed him and it broke my heart a smidge.
After the last feeding, I took the pillow out of his room so he couldn't do that to me. Then I had put the cover in the laundry and as I was folding some with the kids, I realized Aurora was waving it in the air and yelling what it was. So I told her to shush and put it back in the basket, and Lewis watched the whole thing happen with a perplexed look on his face, clearly thinking it looked a lot like something he loved, but he wasn't quite sure. It was another heart-breaking moment for me, as he stared quizzically at the pillow case, and basically shook his head and walked off in the other direction to play, as if it was something from a dream, something he couldn't quite place, but something that had once been important to him.
And now I'm crying, again. Just like I did about an hour ago as I hugged the nursing pillow after I had put the clean cover on and was getting ready to store it. Because my baby is growing up, and apparently that makes me act like a baby.
