You turned sixty-four months old – five-and-a-third – about a week ago. I know I kind of said that I’d only be writing these letters quarterly, but this has been a big month. As of yesterday morning, it’s been three weeks since you last nursed, and you’ve shown no interest, even the few times that I offered in the first few days. So, I suppose you have weaned.
You’ve not yet admitted that you’re “all done with goody,” and still claim that you only don’t get goody when you’re pretending to be a character, and when you’re done being characters, you’ll get it again. Just this evening, when I asked you about it, you told me that, “When I go back to pretending to be animals, I’ll get goody again.”
When I reminded you – yet again – that if you do, “there won’t be much milk left,” you again got a little choked up and said, “And then there won’t be any milk left?” but then you said, “But if I get to sucking, then you’ll make more again, right?”
I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen, though.
I certainly do understand, of course, your reluctance to actually admit that you are weaned, and your desire to leave that door open, just in case. And that’s fine with me. At this point, at least, if you do suddenly decide that you want to nurse again, I will certainly let you give it a shot. I suspect you won’t find much there (I can still express a bit, and I’m sure I will be able to for quite a while, but I would imagine that my supply is no where near what it was a few weeks ago), and from what I’ve read, before long I suppose it’s possible that you will have lost your latch.
Or maybe you won’t ever try again, and I suppose eventually you’ll come to accept that and admit that you have weaned.
In the meantime, I think I’ve more or less accepted and admitted it, although I’m still shocked that you did it so suddenly. I’m glad that you had a few (only four!) last sessions after you decided you could go to sleep – and wake up, and go all day – without it, so I do know when the last time you nursed was: February 11, 2014, at around 5 or 6 am. That will be easy enough to remember, because Mommy and I had been out the evening before for our anniversary, and then you nursed to sleep that night, and back to sleep in the morning.
I’m glad I know when it was, but I’m not sure whether I’m relieved or disappointed that I didn’t know it was the last time, when it happened. I’m pretty sure I’m glad, though, because if I’d known, well, I’m just glad I didn’t know.
It sure is weird to think that I will never – we will never – nurse again, after it being such a huge part of our lives, of my life, for so long. But it’s also weird how quickly it’s become the norm. Even before the last couple of times, I was starting to get used to singing you to sleep instead of nursing, and now it’s just what we do, and it’s so strange to think that less than a month ago, the idea that you would wean in the near future would have seemed laughable. If you’d asked me three and a half weeks ago, I would have been absolutely certain that you’d go to at least five-and-a-half – after all, that was only a couple of months away – and if I were totally honest, I would have predicted that you’d go to six. I’d pretty much gotten used to the idea that I’d be nursing a kindergartner. Guess not.
Oh, I suppose a few other things have happened this month, though. You’re still absolutely obsessed with Frozen. (Mommy and I kind of are, too, to tell you the truth.) You still only answer to “Elsa” and you wear your gloves everywhere except in the tub and to school; you even sleep in them. Mommy is Anna and I am . . . Olaf. Even when you wake in the middle of the night, and you’re half asleep, you call out, “Ooooollllaaaffff!”
And what else has happened lately?
You, upon waking: Hey, wasn’t I in different jammies?
Me: Yeah, Baby, you pee-peed.
You: I did not! You stole my jammies! For no apparent reason!
You were in the bathtub and Mommy told you “You need to let some of the water out.” Your response? “Okay. Thank you for the information!”
One morning, I had a bit of a struggle getting you away from the TV and into the bathroom to brush your teeth and potty so we could leave for school. Finally, you sighed and got up, saying, “Have it your crusty old way!”
We were talking about the whole George Washington cutting down a cherry tree thing, which never really happened, and how some guy who wrote a biography of Washington didn’t know much about his early years, so he just made that up, and then everybody believed it, and he shouldn’t have done that.
You half covered her mouth and whispered, “I want to say, ‘Dammit, guy!’”
When I finished laughing, I said, “But you won’t, because that’s a grown-up word?”
You: I don’t think I’m going to school today.
Me: No, Baby, it’s Sunday. You’re not going to school.
You: They don’t have school on Sunday? How tragic!
At bedtime, you got the hiccups from laughing, so I was telling you how much I love that you and Mommy both do that. Later, I was laughing and you said, “Be careful you don’t get the hiccups.”
I said, “Oh, I won’t. That doesn’t happen to me, just you and Mommy.”
You looked at me seriously, and said, “Maybe you need to laugh harder.”
Excellent advice, Kiddo.
We were all watching some Frozen clips on YouTube and came across some parodies and such. We were being careful about which we watched, and telling you that you never can tell what people make. You said, “Because they might not be kid-friendly,” and later, “They might have grown-up words, like stupid, or fuckin.”
Our lullaby playlist one evening last week: They Call the Wind Mariah, A Pirate Looks at Forty, Mercedes Benz, Bobby McGee, Get Out The Map.
You’ve started requesting, “The song where that lady talks to Lord, about the Mercedes Benz.”
The other day, Mommy and I were kissing and you said, “Blech!” then, sincerely asked, “It is yucky?” I said, “No, it’s not yucky.” You thought a minute and said, “Why do you *slobber* each other?”
This, after telling you repeatedly, “Do NOT stick your tongue out when you kiss me. That’s gross.”
I went with “It’s not yucky if you’re married.”
So, kiddo, I guess that wraps up a pretty damn huge month for us. I’m sad, of course, and still getting used to it, but I am so very proud of you, my big girl.
And I love you.