just to make sure they're juuuuuuuuuust right.

I can remember when I was pregnant with Dean,

day dreaming about what he would look like,

smell like,

if he would cry a lot,

eat well,

sleep?

Two of my babies had been horrible nursers.

One had been good.

She slept too.

God bless Maxine.

I was ready for hard,

but what Dean gave me was bliss.

His little noises he would make.

The smell of his head.

And the little fur all over his back and shoulders.

I loved to nurse him in just a diaper,

so I could pet his furry little body while he ate.

Even after four babies, 

I can vividly remember the first time my milk came in with Dean,

thinking how amazing it was that my body created life,

and then sustained it.

And I was just so proud of this amazing process 

that had been hard for me so many times before.

Everything that had ever bothered me about my body as a teenager 

was liberated in motherhood haha.

I forgive you imperfect self because dang it,

succeeding at 9lb baby child birthing 

{3 of my 4 babes were OVER 9 pounds. YEP} 

made up for it all!

I prided myself in breastfeeding.

Almost like a badge of honor.

So when my milk started drying up when Dean was 4 months old,

I was devastated.

I remember sobbing to my beloved lactation counsellor.

She was so warm and encouraging.

And I thought long and hard about why I was so upset.

You can read about it here.

I knew formula was really good.

I knew I was good enough either way,

and I knew that it would open so many beautiful moments to bottle feed for my three other children, husband, and family and friends all around.

It taught me a great lesson about life, 

and how it cannot always look the way we want it to look.

Control freaks unite ;)

Can I get an amen?!

Everyone say YES!

Looking back I can see that in my fog of frustration,

it wasn't that quitting nursing was about anything I thought I THOUGHT it was about.

It was that closeness, those memories,

those smells.

OHHHH I can almost smell him right now.

That was what I was hanging onto.

That time where it was just us.

In the nursery on the glider.

With the sun coming into the room,

making the pale yellow walls all aglow.

And no one else could step in for me.

It was just the two of us.

Through thick and through thin.

Reflux and all.

It couldn't be handed off.

And it forced time to slow down.

There's something amazing about being able to hideaway, 

and steal your baby from everyone else. 

From the hustle and the bustle of everything around you.

Like an excuse to taste the sweet potatoes on Thanksgiving 

just to make sure they're juuuuuuust right.

And I think I knew deep inside of myself that if nursing was really over,

I wouldn't be strong enough to make that time sacred with just us anymore.

I would let everyone else do it.

And not that it was a bad thing to do that,

just a different thing.

A thing I wasn't ready for yet.

In the good kind of selfish way.

Maybe that was me putting my worth in the pride of it all,

or maybe not.

Maybe it doesn't even matter.

But deep inside of my core,

I know it was more than that.

Because even now, having weaned my sweet baby Dean 6 months ago, 

when I pick him up,

and he leans into my neck with his face buried in my hair,

for those few minutes it takes me back.

Not to the WAY I fed him,

but to the way we felt when I fed him.

And whatever avenue that gets you to that.

THAT is truly the miracle of motherhood.