I knew it would happen eventually, but I wasn’t looking forward to the last time I would nurse our fourth (and final) child. I thoroughly enjoyed nursing my kids and bonding with them in that way, and I was hesitant to let go of that chapter of my life.
I knew we were approaching that milestone though. My son started dropping feedings and I began creating new routines around naptime and bedtime, slowly moving us toward letting this piece go. For weeks I wondered when our last time nursing would be, what I wanted that experience to be like, how I would mark it and what I could do to make it be as significant as I felt that it needed to be.
One night I awoke to him crying out. As has happened so many times before, my feet hit the floor and I made my way into his room before I could open my eyes all the way. I reached for him and gently pulled him into my lap. I wrapped him in his snuggly blanket and asked him if he wanted to nurse. It was so familiar; something I’ve done thousands of times. While I nursed him, I asked him silently, “Are we done, little one? Can your heart hear mine?” The soft blue glow of his nightlight highlighted the soft curves of his face. His legs, once barely stretching across the chair, now folded up and perched on the arm rests of the recliner. I watched him and took it all in, knowing.
I reflected on the day we had just completed. Some shelves arrived that I had ordered months ago. Crafted in Maine, these shelves had birch branches running through them. The particular set that I received had a single birch branch which rose up and split into two. I liked the significance of that as I contemplated this being our last feeding. We started together, he and I, and now he is moving toward being his own person.
It was also the night of Easter, when our family celebrated Jesus’ resurrection from death to new life. I liked the thought of my last time nursing to correlate with Easter, a time when we acknowledge the end of one season and the beginning of another.
That night was truly the perfect time for this significant “last.” I didn’t feel the need to cry as I accepted that realization while embracing my son…but then I did need to cry. I let tears fall freely, unhindered and rolling down my face as I looked again at this sweet babe, this time through blurred vision.
As he drifted off into contented sleep I lingered there in the rocker, holding him a little longer. When I was ready, I placed him back into his bed and covered him up. I walked back to my bedroom with quiet footsteps and the knowledge that we were done.
It was a beautiful last.
