This Is The Final Time I’ll Nurse Her

home insemination Kit

Tonight, I nursed my little girl for the last time. I’ve been contemplating this moment for ages, but I just wasn’t ready to let go. I kept coming up with reasons to postpone it—“We have a trip coming up, and I want to nurse her on the plane,” or “She still has a couple of teeth to come in,” or even “You already nursed this morning, so stopping now feels impossible.” But when I woke up today, I knew it was time. Today was the day.

Our journey hasn’t been smooth sailing. From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I sensed there would be challenges. My dreams of a peaceful hypnobirth evaporated when she decided to stay stubborn in the wrong position, leading to a planned C-section that left me recovering in bed for four weeks—nursing was all I could do. From that very first night in the hospital, she cried endlessly. Even though she was always in my arms for the first three months, it felt like all she did was wail.

I faced my own battles too—postpartum depression hit hard. It’s astonishing how something you’re supposed to cherish can sometimes bring you to the depths of despair. My love for her was there, but it was mixed with a sense of obligation rather than the unconditional warmth I expected to feel. My son was only 25 months old when she arrived, and I think I harbored some resentment toward her for pulling me away from him. I thought the two-year gap would bond them, but I didn’t realize how much I’d miss our time together.

Whether it was her temperament or the energy she picked up from me, she always seemed unhappy. She screamed unless she was in my arms. Car rides were a nightmare. The stroller was her enemy. She refused the bouncy chair or play mat and wouldn’t let anyone else hold her. Even when I managed to hold her, the crying continued. So nursing became my go-to solution. I nursed out of anger, out of frustration, to calm her down, to help her sleep, and even to wake her up. In my frazzled state, it was all I could manage.

754 days. They say time flies, but breaking it down like that feels downright misleading. Surely, time stood still during those long days.

Tonight, as I prepared for bed, I told her, “This is the last night of boobie. After tonight, no more boobie, OK?” She nodded in response, her little hands grasping at my breast. I turned off the light and felt the tears well up. This is it, I thought—the last time. There may be other babies to nurse in the future, but this is the last time with her. Nursing had been our connection, our bond through the chaos. But now, we’ve moved past it. Somehow, we’ve made it through the woods. I don’t know exactly how, but we did. Looking at her, my heart swells with love. I hug her tighter than anyone else ever. This little girl, who once brought me to my lowest, has taught me a depth of love I never knew existed. The guilt I carry for not being the mom I wanted to be during those early years is heavy. But I’m determined to make it up to her. I will always be her biggest supporter.

She knows it’s the last time because she doesn’t drift off like she usually does. Her tiny hands explore my breast as she gazes into my eyes. This was our special thing. No matter what challenges we faced, nursing was our connection. I know in the coming weeks, she may cry and plead and try to pull my shirt off, but I’ll hold my ground. I’ll embrace her and look deep into her beautiful blue eyes and reassure her, “It’s OK, Mommy loves you so, so much, baby girl. We don’t need boobie anymore; we’re good.” And we truly are.

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Summary

A mother reflects on her journey of nursing her daughter for the last time, grappling with the emotional complexities of motherhood, postpartum depression, and the transition to independence. As she prepares to let go of this cherished bond, she finds strength in the love that has grown between them.