That photo was taken last week. My little nursing enjoying a mid-afternoon snack while at the Graceland parking lot.
The last time Atticus latched was at 6:27am on July 26th. He bit me for the upteenth time in a week, and my heart knew we had to change something. Kevin suggested we go buy a pump, and try giving him a bottle/sippy. My child has taken a bottle on four occasions, so I was very doubtful that he would actually take anything other than the breast.
I was angry at Kevin for suggesting this method, but the biting, scratching and crying on Atticus’ part was becoming more and more heartbreaking to watch.
As I pumped for the first time, I felt tears well up in my eyes. I was devastated. I never set out to nurse my child until they were four, but I wasn’t ready for it to end so suddenly.
I will continue to pump milk for him, and I don’t know if I will wean him off of that, but for now, I feel it is what is best for both of us. Perhaps it will curb the hormonal changes I am going through right now as our nursing chapter closes and something new begins.
This isn’t how I imagined self weaning would go. It was abrupt, it was painful and we are in the midst of figuring out our next steps. In two days he hasn’t once tried to nurse. A part of me wants to offer him my breast, but I’m also fearful of being bit again. Last night, I lay on the bed top less with Atticus curled up beside me. He didn’t so much as look at my breasts and want to nurse. My child formerly would have latched immediately, and fallen asleep at the breast.
Maybe the signs had been there the last month. At every nursing session he would bite, claw and push me away. I thought he needed nursing more at that point, not less. I didn’t want to listen to the naysayers in my life suggesting he was weaning. I knew that it was just a phase… Or so I thought.
When other mothers told me their child self weaned at 16-20 months, I used to think they were fibbing, and they wanted their nursing relationship to end, but as my child lays next to me; snuggling, eyes heavy and sipping at his cup instead of me, I’m beginning to understand that maybe this was Atticus’ way of saying he was ready, and I just wasn’t listening.