Breastfeeding with Jake was very hard for me. I think I knew back then that his concentration level was going to be an issue. From the time he was just weeks old, we had to nurse in a dark, quiet room in order to be productive. I opted out of the struggling well before the end of the first year.
It was very different with Quinn. Even in the hospital, every minute of it was a joy, and for months my neck was stiff from craning over to witness the wonder of it up close. I just assumed it would go on (at least on some level) through the beginning of toddler-hood. It never occurred to me that he would stop on his own. He’ll be one in a matter of weeks and he doesn’t seem to want to be bothered with breastfeeding anymore. He went through this a few months ago and the doctor said “I guess he’s finished”. I concluded that my nine-month-old baby didn’t get to say when he was finished. After all, isn’t it my job to decide what’s best for him? Or was it for me? In either case, we muddled through that tiny nursing strike and made it to this point. And now he really seems ready to move on. I, however, am not. I’ll nurse him when he’ll have me, and begrudgingly give him a cup the rest of the time. But I won’t like it.
Here’s a photo, taken by Niall, on our recent vacation. When he took it, I didn’t know it would be among the last times I would nurse my baby.