Weaning

I can feel it, him needing me less. And it hurts a little bit.

He’s only 10 months old, but every day, he is more and more independent. The way he mimics sounds and daydreams in a corner with his blocks. The way he is satisfied with a sippy cup of milk instead of me. The way he no longer needs to feel my warmth to stay asleep.

As he reaches out into the world, smiling at strangers and cooing at cats and dogs, I am overwhelmed with pride. I am consumed with love. But there is also a little part of me that wants him to stay small and needy.

It’s almost the opposite of how I felt during his first weeks of life. I loved holding and feeding my newborn, but his need for me was sometimes stifling. I remember the first time I slept without him on my chest (weeks after he was born) and feeling like I could finally breathe.

But now, as his weaning begins, I know in my heart that what the lactation consultants said is true. It will be much harder on me than on him.

I find myself holding him a few moments longer than I used to after he falls asleep. I used to wait impatiently for his eyes to close, for his body to fall heavy. Now, as his little body relaxes into sleep, I find myself relaxing too, holding him closer and watching the peace wash over his face.

He feels bigger every day, and I suddenly feel the relentlessness of time. And how precious these moments are.

Silas and I on the day of my sister's wedding. Silas was 3 months old.  Photo by Amanda Barber.
Silas and I on the day of my sister’s wedding. Silas was 3 months old. Photo by Amanda Barber.
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Published by

April C

Writer, editor and mom in Saint John, NB.

One thought on “Weaning”

  1. Pingback: He’s 1 | Run on

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