You’re all too willing to spend hours cuddled up nursing in the mornings, preparing for the drought of distraction the day brings. I sense that you feel it too, as the milk seems to taste that much more sweet to you, and these moments that much more precious.
Like a small thorn in the bands of love that bind us, my bliss is pricked by the thought that this will end.
Your small hand resting lovingly on my chest is no longer a passive receptacle for my loving touch. It now creeps across me with its own priorities that amuse and distract us both.
I could stay lost in this connection with you all day, but I know we won’t.
In this most holy of pockets of energy in the universe, I am united with the millions of other maternal goddesses who are nourishing and defining humanity with health and love through this act.
As a nursing session ends with your desire to otherwise conquer the world, the euphoric drunkenness of our oxytocin time out fades and I am left with empty arms. Strong arms that defend and build and hug but their strength was forged under the weight of you and your brothers and the ache of that gratitude is always present in their use.
My fingers delicately touch the top of my breast to feel the ghost of your hand while my body and mind have moved forward in sync with you in the present, the warmth of my fingertips betray my unconscious mind, following my heart just a step behind the moments that are fading.
You bloom remarkably, having surpassed the size and cleverness of most, long ago. There is no greater harbinger of pride for a mother than the song of joy that accompanies a blooming bud. But the quiet dull ache of longing is always there below the surface when one become two.
As you skip over to me, giddy for your “Mup!,” I collapse in around you, seeing ahead you will be skipping over for only a hug.
These are the final months with my final nursling and I can feel the Earth shifting beneath us, gradually as it always is, but me acutely aware of the momentum now. The changes in my body chemistry spurred by your cheerful insistence at walking your journey so charmingly, is harkening the change of seasons. My fertile spring is ending and as the days warm and the sun shines that much more beautifully and sharply, summer is on the horizon. I never resist – what a futile and counter productive effort that would be. I merely revel in the sweet taste of the present fully.
The bittersweet knowledge at the change of season swirling around my blooming bud, makes my heart heavy with warm gratitude for every step on our breastfeeding journey and all this season gifts us with for the future.