Good yummy

It's been a few weeks -- I've lost count, not wanting to count -- since you nursed. You held on for a long time, my boy. You wanted that comfort only mama can give you as you fell asleep -- the holding, the contact and the precious food that was too good to be called simply "milk," so it had to be called "yummy." Good yummy. Our own special term.

But it was time. Even as you nursed, you thrashed, you bit, you slapped. I think that meant even you knew you were done nursing, even if you didn't want to totally give it up. My breasts already tender from carrying your soon-to-be sibling, it was your biting that made the decision for me: no more good yummy.

I thought you were going to wean much sooner. Many people probably assumed you were already weaned. But you held on.

And when you asked for your yummy at night and naptime, I had to turn you away -- tearfully at first, then with logic you probably don't possess and then with gentle cajoling. Eventually, you just stopped asking. Now, you haven't asked in weeks.

You are weaned.

I know you must understand by now that I am so much more to you than just my breasts. Tomorrow, you will turn two and a half, and you really don't need them anymore. They might have needed you, but they're now looking forward to nourishing a new life soon.

And even though you don't have mama's good yummy anymore, I wish you all the good yummy that your life will bring you -- whatever in life sustains you, comforts you and fills you up.