So here's what happened:
Two and a half weeks ago, Beck was coming down with a cold and had some mysterious cold sores. He would never let me see them, but his teachers kept smothering him in Vaseline and I frankly believe that he allows them to see things he just won't let me mess with. So fine.
Latching just wasn't going well for him - it seemed to hurt and it was hard to breathe, as it always is when he is congested. So fine.
We were doing this thing where he'd try to latch and then get frustrated so I would ask him if he wanted to try the other side and he would grin and switch sides. And get frustrated.
But instead of going all ballistic like normal, he just said, "It not working." And then, "No, dat one not working eeder."
Each time he would try less hard. Until we were quickly at a place where he would lightly brush his lips past the nipple before throwing up his hands in this strange mockery of the whole endeavor, saying faux-perplexed-like, "It not working! Let me twy dis one. No, it not working eeder!"
And then he added this little gem, "I twy and I twy and I twy but it not working! I go in my bed."
And with that, we were weaned. Within 2 days he wasn't even asking.
I would never in a million years believe that this child would have weaned himself. I remember, as I entered my second year of nursing (and then my third), that I would read that kellymom site and wonder about whether to wean him or how it would ever happen. And there were all these studies and things that talked about how the majority of kids self-wean somewhere between 2 and 3. And I GUFFAWED at this. I seriously did not believe that would EVER be Beck. I thought I would be prying him off me screaming when it came time to wean so he could attend my school next year (not wanting to risk him, you know, latching on while passing me in the hallway - can you say awk-ward!?).
But here we are. It was sudden. It was rather unwelcome, what with the new toddler bed situation and my new, total lack of ability to lull him into drowsiness. But it is a relief that it was easy and his idea. It is a relief, of sorts, to have my body back so that I can contemplate things like prescription drugs and a tattoo.
I definitely need a tattoo now, folks.
Current front-runner:
But something like this might be good, too:
Still. The relief is pretty small. The larger part is all this headachy grumpy sad sad sadness. I am holding you all to your word that it will go away within a few weeks. Right now it just feels achingly separate and lonely.
If anyone had told me three years ago that I would breastfeed for two and a half years and then cry out of the blue constantly when it was over... I would probably have punched that person the nose.
Or maybe just not believed it.
Did I mention the grouchy, violent outbursts?
