His Cup o' Tea

I swear to you that I did not begin the journey of motherhood thinking that I would breastfeed my children beyond the acceptable 6-month mark. I had no desire to be labeled as "Mother Earth," attachment-parenting, family bed-sharing, crunchy granola, nothing-but-organic-eating Mother of the Year (ha). I just wanted to survive.

When #3 arrived, I put my proverbial foot down and said, "He's not getting more than 9 months of the 24-hour booby buffet and that's final." (My first son had nursed for 15 months and then my daughter for 28 months.) Cut to 2 years and 2 weeks later and I am still E's walking, talking, human binky.

Sigh.

And the thing is that I'm now really torn. I'm torn between the fact that HE HAS HAD HIS SHARE AND NEEDS TO GET THE HELL OFF and the fact that he is my last baby.

Part of me is so tired of being so needed and relied-upon. Part of me just wants to cut and run. And if I did, I don't think anyone would blame me. And then there's the part of me that doesn't want to let go because he's my last. I love my kids, but I also loved them differently when they were babies. And they will never be those tiny little baby beings ever again. It's sad in a way, the thought of "losing" those babies forever to growth and maturity. Does that make any sense at all?

So anyway... I don't even know what the point to this post is, as it's not like I have come to any conclusion about how to get this kid away from my boob. And when I say boob, I mean boob, singular. I'm completely lop-sided because it has been well over a year since he's ignored the other one. I guess it just wasn't his cup o' tea.

(I know, I know... I need to buck up... the kid can't go to kindergarten and say, "It's snacktime? Where's my boob?")