a mourning

The babe is weaned. My plan was to make it to his first birthday and then take more definitive steps toward completely closing this chapter. This weekend, though, Asher made it clear that he is finished and ready to move on. In some ways, this is good. I've been feeling the itch to take this step for a while now, and I think my body was agreeing. I'm ready to have my body back for a season before we have second babe, and I want to really work on shedding that persistent pregnancy weight.

But still. A part of me wanted to nurse this babe just a little longer, because when he's nursing he's still a baby. And if he's a baby, he can't be an almost-toddler, right? Friday night and Saturday morning when Asher completely refused me, I felt both relieved and hurt. And then after he settled down for his morning nap, I felt sad. Very sad. And I cried. Because, you see, he's growing up and he doesn't need me in that same physical way anymore. Josh sweetly tried to console me by saying that we'll have other babies, and he's right. Except here's the thing: I won't ever have this baby again. This baby is growing up, and he'll never be a baby again. This person is growing out of infancy, and there's nothing I can do about it.

Sometimes it's so easy to focus on how you feel as a parent instead of on how your child feels. Sometimes what my heart needs isn't what his person needs, and so I learn to let go, piece by piece. Motherhood is a constant process of weaning, and some days it just breaks your heart.