Parenting
By Ava Reynolds
Updated: Aug. 20, 2023
Originally Published: June 11, 2023
My daughter has officially stopped breastfeeding.
“Quitting isn’t cool,” I jokingly told her, but she seemed unfazed. Instead, she scurried off to her play mat, tossing her little bird toy in my direction for the third consecutive night.
After 32 years, it was a first for me—someone running away from my chest. I’d be lying if I said my pride didn’t take a minor hit. Sure, they have their flaws, but I thought we had a good thing going, you know? Wasn’t this whole weaning process supposed to be my call? But her message was unmistakable: she was over it. If she was ready to move on, then so was I. Seventeen months is no small feat!
Upon realizing this, my initial reaction was pure elation: FREEDOM! The constant reliance was over! My body was mine again, all MINE! I could finally leave the house for an entire Saturday carefree, gleefully shouting to my husband, “She’s all yours for the day! Good luck!” Mooohooohahahahaha! No more nursing tops or avoiding brunch invitations!
But hold on—when babies decide they’re done, they’re usually really done, right? Like, no chance of a comeback? Just checking so I’m not blindsided later. I mean, I really wouldn’t miss it, not at all! Just asking for a friend, of course.
I rarely mentioned that we were still breastfeeding—oh, I mean, we were breastfeeding—because I believe it’s all about feeding our babies in whatever way works best. But when people would inquire, I would respond honestly: yes, we were still nursing.
This response would elicit one of two reactions: “That’s awesome! Good for you!” or a look of utter shock, followed by, “What’s wrong with you? When are you going to stop?” Well, that time has finally arrived: she’s stopped!
And I can’t find any reason to be upset about it. That would just be absurd, right?!
I never had a definitive answer to when we’d stop nursing, much to the dismay of those who asked. I had a vague goal—six months—set before my daughter arrived. At that time, during those early days when my nipples felt like they were on fire, six months seemed like a monumental challenge. Who does this for so long?! I thought those who did were either out of their minds or saints. Turns out, they were just doing what worked for them.
I definitely understood that “it’s always darkest before the dawn” was written for my sore nipples, because once I got past the initial agony, breastfeeding became easy and convenient. I even started feeling a bit lazy about it.
But I’m totally fine with it ending. Seventeen months is a significant milestone! I should probably throw myself a celebration because I’m genuinely thrilled. Yes, I’m happy—my body is my own again!
Yet, it would have been nice if she had given me a heads-up so I could have savored what I now realize was our final feeding. Or maybe let me make the call and shed a tear in protest?
Oh, but I’m still overjoyed! And don’t get me started on pumping! I finally put the pump away about a year ago because, let’s face it, pumping sucks. The constant “WEE-wer, WEE-wer” noise felt anything but glamorous. Plus, I was nursing her throughout the day, so pumping was just a chore for the rare occasions someone else could feed her. It seemed ridiculous to isolate myself and hook up to a machine when nursing was just so much easier. Once I ditched the pump, I felt almost guilty; when people asked how I was still breastfeeding, the truth was: how could I not?
Giving it up has been a breeze! She doesn’t even seem to miss it at all. I’m so lucky! I should embrace this luck! She’s not acting out or trying to nurse again. And not a tear in sight—well, at least not from her. What? Who’s crying? Not me! I’m thrilled about this transition. Can I borrow that tissue? Did I mention how perfectly okay I am with this?
She never was the emotional type when nursing, making it easy for me to detach. To her, nursing was purely transactional: she’d come in, get her milk, and move on to her play. There was no clinging or reaching out for comfort. This made it easier for me to feel less connected too; I was simply fulfilling my end of the deal.
And now that deal has concluded. She made it clear she won’t be renewing her contract with my milk service—totally within her rights! It’s all in the fine print!
Interestingly, I just discovered I’m pregnant! I’ve heard this can change the taste of a mother’s milk. Maybe that’s why she has opted out—her way of protesting a new baby on the way. But whatever the reason, what matters most is that this was her choice.
And I’m absolutely fine with it! Seriously, thank you for your concern. I know you didn’t ask, but I just wanted to let you know—I’m okay! What’s that? Oh, it’s just my new mascara running for no reason. Must be pregnancy-related, right? I read that somewhere, so it must be true.
We’ve settled into a new nightly routine: bath, book, bed. She’s a big girl now! Her decision to stop nursing signals to me that she’s growing, making her own choices, and becoming a little independent woman. And I’m totally okay with that!
Did I mention I’m grateful? I could just lie here and sob in joy! This transition is the best for both of us, I know it. But one thing’s for sure: breaking up is hard to do.
In summary, when your little one decides to stop breastfeeding, it can be an emotional yet liberating experience. Embrace the journey, cherish the memories, and look forward to the new adventures ahead!