Last week was World Breastfeeding Week.
Forty six months (just under four years!) = the amount of time I've breastfed one or the other. In fact, it's been almost five years since I haven't either been pregnant or nursing. That's a long time. I was a few months pregnant with Carson when Finley weaned. She was twenty one months old. Carson, at just over two years old is still going strong. He mainly just nurses now in the morning, at nap/bed time and maybe one other time, but not usually.
If you told me prior to kids I'd be nursing my two year old, I'd likely have been the girl who thought that was a little...weird. But it's not. In fact, it's the norm in many countries. Much of America is still a little off with the normalized breastfeeding stuff, but we're slowly coming along.
Feeding my babies has been so special to me. I'm proud for making it work. I know it's not the easiest thing for everyone and a fed baby is what's really important. But it does feel like a big accomplishment. It's been a huge and awesome aspect of our lives for a long time.
Some days I start to get a little nudge of the idea that I wish Carson would wean. Then I really think it through. He's our last (we're 98.9% sure). That's a sad thought. No more breastfeeding a sweet little baby ever again. Ok, it's not a sad thought, it's heartbreaking. But they grow. There will be lots of lasts along the road (and lots of great firsts too!). So I let him hang on, and I hang on with him. Because two is still little and he won't always be little and I won't always be able to nurse him and make everything better.
There will come a time when our today, tomorrow, all the days after don't involve nursing my sweet, content and peaceful baby, but that's not today and I'm going to soak it up for just a little longer until it's just a sweet memory.