Last Saturday Santi woke up and said, "Bookie" (combination of boob and milky) and nursed on the couch in the warm, dark living room as the day opened up around us. He hasn't nursed since. After nearly 8 years of being pregnant or nursing, a chapter closes...for all of us, but more for me. I remember the first time he nursed. I was so worried about yet another infection (I'd had five between the two other boys) and I bravely decided to put him to the boob in the hospital and try again. To trust. There wasn't any other way for me at that moment. I couldn't not nurse this tiny, precious baby that was now ours. So I did and the journey was so different and peaceful this time. I have breastfed for almost seven years combined and am proud of nursing my boys into strong little people and thankful for the bond it created for me with them. My body is now mine again, although a piece of my heart is forever gone.
*the morning after writing this Santi wanted to nurse. Welcome to motherhood. You never really know what's going on.
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