When my daughter turned 22 months, she weaned herself from her beloved boobies. And by "her" boobies, I really mean mine.
I hadn't realised all those months ago that I had ceded ownership to a little milk maniac.
My nursing relationship with her was the polar opposite of my experience with my oldest. From the get go, we worked like two cogs in the Elizabeth Feeding Machine. My little darling latched on like a pro from the beginning. And, from the beginning, she took ownership of my breasts. She felt comfortable pulling them out at theme parks and her grandparents' house. She grabbed them, scratched them, bit them and even hit them. The poor things were sorely abused in the line of duty.
Nevertheless, I was hopeful that we could nurse for at least a year. I was excited that we were able to continue much longer.
Saying goodbye to the boobies has been bittersweet. She's my baby, the last I'll have, and I adored the special moments were were able to spend. From the early days when she clutched at me with tiny frantic hands to the end when she spent the time playing with my hair and patting my cheek. I was very aware, the entire 22 months, that I needed to savour each moment. And I'm so glad I did!
I thought it might be time to wean when she went five days without asking for her morning snack. I knew it was time when that pattern continued for a month.
So, one morning, when she came in after five days without and asked for "booby", I told her the boobies were night nights. She frowned, put her hand down my shirt and said, "No night nights."
"Yes, baby, they are."
She patted my breasts and furrowed her brow. "Night night, boobies." Then, she lay next to me and snuggled her warm little body close to mine while I swallowed the lump in my throat.
She still occasionally asks for booby, but now, that request is almost immediately followed by "bye bye boobies."
How did you know it was time to wean?