Our last ever feed

As I write this post I am sobbing. My body aches to just go and pick up my sleeping baby and let him have one last boob feed. Tonight he went to sleep without a feed for the first time ever, in almost two years. It is time to stop, so tomorrow I won't offer a milk feed and will use the 'milk is for babies and you're a big boy' line which will be ripping my heart in two as I say it. He isn't a big boy, he's my baby. I'm not ready for him to grow up. But my head tells me differently and I know that the plan was always to stop feeding around now and we've really just been looking for ways to do it. Today presented itself with a perfect opportunity; a very sleepy boy who hadn't napped all day. I knew he'd go to sleep easily and quickly so I decided to just see if he'd be happy to cuddle in rather than having milk. 

I'm not going to pretend he was happy; he wasn't. He cried a bit and asked for boob but after 20 seconds he stopped asking and cuddled in. I rocked him and told him the story of Goldilocks and the 3 Bears. Apart from I didn't make it to the end where the Bears find their beds have been slept in because I was crying by then. I took 5 minutes to sit with my sleeping baby/big boy and reflected on the incredible journey that we've been on (sorry for the cringe American cliche there). I thought about the midwife syringing colostrum from my boob minutes after he was born (you know your dignity is well and truly gone when a midwife is squeezing your boob whilst prodding your nipple with a syringe). I thought about the struggle I had for two days to get him to latch and then the following weeks of constant feeding, day and night. I remembered the soreness and the tiredness that I felt, but the pride I felt each time I had him weighed or a health professional told me I was doing a good job. I remembered his refluxy cries and his obvious discomfort that later turned out to be down to milk and egg in my diet and I remember all too clearly the real struggle to be dairy free for a year and a half. The cakes I had to pass up, the tomato pasta that I had to choose from every menu because it was all I could eat. The lack of a chocolate advent calendar, Easter eggs, end of term chocolates and pancakes on a weekend. It hasn't been easy. But he was worth every second and every hardship. It's the most selfless thing I have ever done and I'm beyond proud of myself for sticking with it and putting Henry's needs ahead of my own for so long.

So for now my body will finally have a rest after almost three years of looking out for someone else through pregnancy, birth and breastfeeding. I will miss the sweet smell of my baby's night time breath and the way his eyes used to roll into the back of his head when he fed at night. I'll miss him gently stroking my face and his little grunts as he fell asleep feeding. I'll miss being able to settle him in seconds and hope to God that I still get bedtime cuddles every night.

My head tells me that this is the next chapter and that my baby boy really is growing up. I'm not sure my heart can take it...