I must remember this

August 14th, 2008

Little Boy C is almost nine months old and hardly nurses at all anymore – only at night before he goes to bed. He nursed like a champ until he tasted his first spoon of food and then he never looked back. I didn’t expect this; LIttle Boy A nursed until he was eighteen months old and weaning at that point was my idea, not his.

C hasn’t nursed during the day since I can’t remember when but he holds fast to those last moments before he goes to bed. We lay on our sides in my big bed together, his face pressed up against me, my bottom arm curled around his head and back. With my free top hand I might stroke his hair, or rest the palm of my hand on his belly or his hip. Tonight I had my hand cupped on his head and when I moved it C reached up and flailed around with his little hand until he grabbed my index finger and pulled my hand back down to his head. He does this often, grabs my hand and moves it where he wants it. From his hip he might pull it up to his belly; when I stroke his hair he might clamp his hand on mine to keep me still. Sometimes he pushes my hand away, then a few minutes later is reaching out for a finger to bring me back to him. Each night as we lay there in bed and C holds my hand, pulls it to his body, I tell myself to write this down and each night after I put C to bed I move on to the bedtime routine for Little Boy A, and by the time that one is in bed it is forgotten, this way C tells me what he wants, shows me what he likes. This way he reaches out for me, finds my hand and presses it against his body. This way he loves me. Every night, I tell myself to remember this.