jamison is our last baby and we know it. we wanted four. we got four.
now we’re done.
then, why am i’m holding on to her babyhood? why am i not looking forward to what is in store? because i know what i have to look forward to and it really only gets better, but i want to hold on to this baby and not let her go.
maybe it’s because i know it’s the last time i’ll have a 16 month old that is mine, all mine. the last time i’ll have a babe at the breast. i’ve talked about weaning and even started the process by having daddyjay put her to bed at night, but i’m not ready to be done. i don’t mind it. i thoroughly enjoying being able to comfort her and lull her to sleep all on my own, by myself, but i’m not ready yet and she’s not ready yet and i’m not entirely sure when we will be ready, but i’m not giving it up just yet. there’s too much i’d miss and i’m not ready for the next time i nurse her to be the last time i nurse her.
the last time i can comfort her just so.
the last time she’ll reach for my shirt because she fell or is tired or just wants some love in the way only her mama can give.
the last time she’ll pat a chair for me to sit and smile at me while saying and signing “please.”
the last time she’ll say “thank you” when i do sit down to nurse her.
the last time i’ll nurse her to sleep.
the last time i’ll get her from bed in the morning when she immediately lies across my chest.
the last time i’ll take her back to bed with me for a few extra minutes of wakeful sleep when i can curl into her.
the last time i’ll watch as she curls into me, eyes rolled back, hand reaching across my chest to find the unused nipple.
and i don’t even mind how she’ll “tune in tokyo,” or slice my breast with her nails, or squirt milk across the room, because, yes, all of those can, and do, happen quite frequently. but giving up those few things would mean giving up the last shred of any baby in my house.