One month shy of two years, our breastfeeding journey has come to
an end.
After
a difficult start, Everly and I entered into a beautiful breastfeeding relationship - I do admit, one I tried to control too much in the early months, but learned to
love once I truly surrendered.
The morning feed will always hold a special place in my heart. Slowly waking from our slumber, we would lie next to each other in the big bed, her sweet little head nestled
into the crook of my arm. I would run my fingers through her hair and stare
into her soulful brown eyes. The past few weeks Everly took to holding my
hand, her tiny fingers clasped tightly around mine. It was a sacred space, a
quiet moment in our day, one we both cherished. I will miss it.
Her weaning was as slow and gentle as it could possibly be. We were down to twice a day - first thing in the morning and just before bed. She began
to refuse at bedtime with a gentle but firm 'No'. Following her lead, I
stopped offering. Shortly after, she refused the morning feed two days in a row.
On Friday morning she decided 'Milk, Mummy'. She fed for a short while then
pulled off frustrated with a loud 'Milk away!'. There were tears, loud wails and
deep sobs, and I held her tight. When she was calm I explained milk was running out and it would stop soon. Her eyes told me she understood.
On Saturday and Sunday we relished in lazy mornings in bed. Everly fed, but they were short. This morning she woke early. She leaned in and gently touched my chest with a softly
spoken 'Milk?'. I knew it was time. 'Milk's all gone now, but I would love to give you a
cuddle', I said. We laid together for awhile then she pushed me away and sat up - 'Toast, eggs,
Mummy!’. And so it ended, and so we started a new day and a new chapter.
I turned the kettle on and gathered some sage leaves (to help dry
the milk - a little tip I remembered from
this lovely Mama). Sitting at the
kitchen table sipping sage tea from my beautiful new cup with its golden handle*,
I was reminded of one of my favourite poems by Robert Frost:
Nature's first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
Motherhood is so often like a merry-go-round: up and down we go,
round and round, give and take, and then around we go again. The cycles of life. Just
as in nature, as the sun rises and sets each day, as we go from Summer to
Autumn to Winter to Spring, nothing can stay the same. We simply must trust, we must surrender, we must keep moving. The seasons of motherhood are often challenging
and tiring, but they are also strangely comforting and amazingly beautiful.
*Cup by Bridget Bodenham bought at Adelaide's design market Bowerbird Bazaar.
