Last night instead of nursing babies, I nursed a beer.*
Apple and Orange are weaned. They do so well with sippy cups, I think we could almost even get away with stashing the bottles, but I’m not going to push it until closer to their birthday.
So, huh. I have spent the better part of the last 4 years gestating and nursing, and now it’s done – no more babies. This parenting gig is so strange, looking forward to each new stage while mourning the end of the last one; complaining about the aches and pains of pregnancy or the breast infections of nursing only to be sad now that my babies are out in the world, independent of my body.
Don’t click this link, because the entry is really bad, but this weaning thing does bring my blog full circle. I started writing shortly after Raisin’s first birthday, when she had just stopped nursing. Not that I’m quitting, mind you — there’ll still be plenty of whiny nonsense here for some time to come.
*Well, actually, I drank the damn thing too fast and had to lay down. I am such a lightweight. One beer. Sheesh.