Why is it that no matter how long I nurse my babies, I'm always a bit heartbroken when they fully wean? Each weaning has been a gentle fading away of our sweet nursing ritual: Anna at 16 months {and I, five months pregnant}. Sophia at 18 months. And now Clara, here at 20 months, nursed her last. I'd skipped a morning this weekend due to a meeting, couldn't quite bear to give up our lovely morning snuggle today, but she was interested for only a couple minutes. The time has come and she's ready. But, am I ready? Will I ever be? {Okay, yes to that last question, but a few more months would be nice!}
This to this--in the blink of an eye
{Disclaimer: She is not potty training}
One of my favorite writers calls parenthood a "heavy-hearted happiness" and I definitely feel that today. I love watching my children progress toward independence and each stage is more rewarding than the last. Yet each day that passes drains away a bit of this precious time with my young girls. I've felt lately that my two girls and a baby have become three little girls. It's hard to believe how fast this year and a half with little Clara has passed. I love her toddler self so much and I know there are even better times {and more sleep!} ahead. Yet a part of me mourns the tiny infant that used to nestle in my arms.
There's a quote from one of my favorite books that appropriately sums up my feelings today:
"God warns us not to love any earthly thing above Himself, and yet He sets in a mother's heart such a fierce passion for her babes that I do not comprehend how He can test us so" {Geraldine Brooks, Year of Wonders}.
