This morning while I nursed you for the last time, I tried my best to memorize your face and the way your little hand felt rested against me. I leaned in, nuzzled your neck and breathed you in as many times as you would let me. The decision to wean you has been tough but I think I'm ready and I hope you are too.
I'm typing this while waiting on a (three, make that FOUR times) delayed flight to Atlanta and I have to keep stopping so I don't cry too much in the airport. I'm hiding out in a corner by the only power outlet I could find dabbing tears with the sleeve of my hoodie. This is a testament to how tender I'm feeling because I rarely cry, and certainly not in the company of a bunch of strangers.
Thank you Einin, for being mine. Thank you, and your brothers, for opening my heart up so wide that, at times, I feel like I'll just burst from loving you. Thank you for showing me what it means to be truly vulnerable. Looking at myself through your eyes and hearts has made me love myself more.
In some ways it's sad to see my baby fade into a toddler. You are my very last baby, after all. While I am excited about all the things we're going to do as you grow up, I'm struggling letting your little nursling days go. The next time I hold a baby of my blood, it might belong to you, or your brothers, and that seems like a million years from now. Maybe, if I'm truly lucky, I'll get a chance to watch you nurse your own baby.
Change is good and so is growing up. This bittersweet moment is just one of many to come. Thank you for making things hard sometimes, the stretch, heartbreak and sacrifice of motherhood has shown me a side of myself that I never knew was there.
Forgive me my fragile heart today. It's probably good that I'll be away for a few days. I need some time to stretch and change, again, for what's next.
Yours completely, Mommy