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I stumbled upon your website looking up something pregnancy related, and I read this post. When I read your paragraph containing:
"Only at night does she come back to me for milk, and each night I remind myself that it might be the last with her for breastfeeding. I am heartbroken in a way there is no word in English for. Every drop of mother’s milk shared between us comes on borrowed time with her, and in the same second I scold myself for being overdramatic, I also catch myself mourning how our bodies get pulled away from one another by the bright world, yet again"

I too had similar feelings with my daughter, and then my son. It was harder with my daughter because I knew at 19 months that I'd have to wean her since my milk was leaving (I was six months pregnant with my son). She probably would have nursed much longer if she could have. And when my son self-weaned at 16 months, I mourned another ending nursing relationship. It is so bittersweet - sweet that they're becoming their own person, bitter because you can not reclaim that sweet baby-stage.
Your post touched me, and reminded me, and I thank you for that.




Thanks, Cindy, for your kind comment on those words, which were not easy to write. I still have moments of not just nostalgia, but ache, even--and simultaneous to--as I recognize her and her body's independence.

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