Squishing up baby chubs while I can

My babies are growing up! Aside from the one I was lucky enough to have a choice about.

BB finished kindergarten and after MONTHS of weaning RB is officially done breastfeeding.

Back in December we were down to nursing 1-2 times a day. In Disney it ramped back up. Anything to stop a tantrum.

After Disney we got down to once a day. Then the couple months before Alaska, it was a strange situation of latch for a few seconds, pop off and go to sleep happy versus no latch and sob brokenheartedly for a LONG time. I opted for the 5 second latch.

At home she was insistent,

“Mommy milkies.”

“After we snuggle a little bit.”

“Mommy milkies!”



“Ask nicely!”


Then we went to Alaska. I planned to avoid a repeat of Disney. I didn’t offer and RB NEVER asked.

We returned home and she still didn’t ask. A couple weeks went by. I thought that was that. Then one day we were snuggling, she patted my shirt and chest,

“What’s that?”

“My shirt.”

“Mommy milkies!”


“I want some.”

“No, they’re all gone.”

“Yummy in my tummy!”

“I know.”


“No, your choice is to snuggle or go in your crib.”

“I don’t want choices. I’m getting my water.”

I can still hand express a few drops. I’m not sure what I’m trying to prove. I’m happy she’s done even if it has left my breasts shells of their former selves.

As I’m getting ready in the morning, BB lets herself into my bathroom to poop,

“Why are your mommy milkies hanging down?”

Why does privacy mean nothing?

So we’re rolling this into summer and potty training for RB. And by potty training I mean if she figures it out at the beach while she’s peeing on herself, great.

She’s been sitting on the toilet for months now. RB’s life goals are whatever BB is doing.

She wants nothing to do with the little potty and she wants nothing to do with a step stool, despite falling into the toilet several times.

She’s cut off from toilet paper until she actually pees in the toilet. This is an ongoing discussion.

RB is weaned, maybe potty training and staying in a crib forever. BB is a rising first grader who just got her ears pierced for her 6th birthday.

We agreed that if she’s old enough to get her ears pierced, she’s old enough to wipe her own butt. Even if she’s in my bathroom.


We’re Weaned

Baby Bop and I are weaned. Freedom! And a week of weeping and the most painful breasts I’ve ever had. I sob on Captain’s shoulder,

“She’s all grown up!”

She’s 20 months old. If I can still say her age in months, I know she’s not grown up, BUT STILL.

Captain rubs my back and asks,

“What’s going to happen when she leaves for college?”

I sob some more.

I never had any idea how long I’d nurse for. When Baby Bop was born I was hoping it would work. It worked for a couple months. Then around the third month I had to stand and bounce her in a sling to nurse or do all nursing in the middle of the night. It was so intense I was sure I was going crazy.

I stopped the bouncing and night nursing at 12 months. Either she figures it out or we’re done because if I bounce her one more time I might throw her out the window.

She figured it out. Lying in bed, nursing my baby felt so easy, why stop now? So on we went. Then around 17 months I felt like it would be nice to stop, but was terrified of screwing up her beautiful sleeping.

At 18 months she screwed it up all by herself. So at 20 months with her still not sleeping well and nothing to lose, I went for the wean.

She never asks to nurse unless we’re near a bed, so avoiding beds works for most of the day.

We went from 3 feeds a day, to 2 and then our nap time feeding was the last one. I was terrified. Her nap is what helps me survive the day. Faced with not napping you could probably convince me to nurse her until she’s 5.

I gave it a go. First nap without nursing I didn’t whip a boob out and she didn’t ask. Next few naps she asked, cried a little, sighed and drank milk from a sippy cup. Two weeks later, she seems like she’s forgotten she ever nursed. Then without thinking, I slip out of my jammies to get dressed. Baby Bop declares,

“Mommy! Tummy! Milkies!”

Shoot! I hide in my closet.

“Mommy milkies!”

“All gone.”

“A taste?”

Is she bargaining with me? Now we’re three weeks weaned and almost ready for college.