This chapter is over. The having babies, nursing, the tiny clothes.
I'm melancholy about it really.
Right now I can say it fine, but in the back of my mind it whispers to me, "That's it. It's over. Onto the rest of your lives. Time to start getting old."
It's scary really. If I allow myself to think about it. Every small shirt I fold and pack into the NB to 3 month box, the 3 to 6, or the 6 to 9. With every box I pack a little bit of my heart aches.
I think I want more kids because of the sweet precious times when their new life blesses ours. It doesn't get much sweeter than that. I'm so thankful that I soaked up every bit of Weston I possibly could in those stages. Long days of rocking with him on my shoulder. Smelling every single freshly bathed scent I could. Feeling his soft skin. There's nothing better if you ask me.
The fact that my hair is turning more and more grey, the walls in our house are getting intimately closer, the backseat of the car not sparing another inch, combined with the fact that I sit down to work, drive, and eat and that is about it leave me facing reality.
I do feel complete. I feel we are the family God meant us to be. But still there is that little heart string that doesn't seem to want to go away.
I heard it again as Weston and I closed the chapter on breastfeeding. Mind you, I didn't experience the batted, mesmerized eyes that look at me in adoration. The boy was there for one purpose no time for lovey dovey. Man, he's like his dad. I actually enjoyed breastfeeding Weston much more than I did with the other two. It was painful nonetheless. But, we stuck it out until he was done. If you have followed long hopefully I have been descriptive enough for you to get Weston's personality. He was even kicking the crap out of me in the womb.
The boy goes and goes and that is him. His infant months = bliss, but now that he knows he can go and he can do it on his own, he is gone. There is no time for sitting still and certainly no time to be stuck to mom to eat. I let him call the shots on this one. He was clearly done. It wasn't a smooth road to begin with but we stuck it out and we did it together and I'm proud of that. I thought we were finished at month 8, but we fought until the 9th. And we're done. Part of me misses it, a lot of me doesn't. The pumping at work, the worry over making enough for him. The occasional pain that came from it all. I don't miss that!
As I packed up the bottles from the kitchen cabinet it occurred to me again that this was the last time. Never again will we go through this stage in our lives. And I'm sad and happy all over again. But, man, do I have more energy! I know for sure I'm going to miss it more as time goes on. I'm trying to keep my mind in the present and be thankful for their stages now. They are growing so fast and I'm trying to remind myself to stay right there with them. Weston made me feel better about it all last night when he finally decided to sit with me and fall asleep on my shoulder once again as the boys actually played peacefully in our room.
Through the chaos and the stress, the dirty messes, and spilled drinks, little by little I'm learning, relaxing, and letting things happen. I'm trying and that's what counts, right?!