Breakfasts are always hit and miss here, Things One and Two as well as The Dude are absolute cereal killers,  we go through so much of the stuff we need shares in it.  We can't even substitute with the cheaper own brand versions because they know.

Cheerios I've always nicknamed Mother's Helpers because should you need to get something done in the kitchen they work tremendously well at occupying your baby/toddler whilst in their high chair (and handy for practicing their pincer grip and fine motor skills)

Weetabix in baby led weaning is Satan's diarrhea insofar as to say it gets everywhere and you need to pray to the antibacterial wipes and the gods of broken nails to clean it up.  Often you contemplate using fire or a pick axe.

Toast is often used at lunch and the floor isn't very hungry for it in the morning.

Currently as we're egg-free and dairy free that also rules out omelette and scrambled eggs.

So we turned to the baby led weaning favourite; porridge fingers.  

The one about weaning from breastfeeding.

The Preschooler was popping in and out of the house helping The Husband when I hear a blood curdling howl.  Agony or not, I run as does The Husband.  We almost sandwich The Preschooler who's crying his heart out.  He'd trapped his fingers in the door.  Instinctively I scoop him up, perching him half on my hip and half on Moomin bump as I inspect the damage.  Not so long ago, I'd whip out a boob and he'd be near instantly placated.  It's only once you've weaned that you realise what an epic parenting tool breastfeeding was, especially in crisis.  So we soothe and cuddle him as his sobs eventually slow into wet hiccups which gulp at the river of snot and tears.  It doesn't feel enough.  It feels like something is missing.  No matter how tight or close I hold him or how fervently I soothe him, it takes so much longer for our frantic hearts to realign and reach that moment when they're beating together in the symphony of 'Everything is okay. We're okay'  I can't escape the feeling of uselessness, of not being enough.

Thing One was bottle fed, he gave up his bottle spontaneously at around age two.  he just one day decided enough was enough and since that day he'll only drink milk on cereal or if it's chocolate flavoured.

Thing Two was breastfed until she was 2y6m.  This was predominantly child led with a nudge from me seeing as I was ttc, got pregnant and then miscarried.  Considering she was boob junkie, the weaning was remarkably effortless and untraumatic.  She was ready.  In all ways.  Once weaned she never asked for it again nor spoke about it which was surprising considering she was a boob junkie.  Yet she's always been a rather practical and scarily pragmatic.

Then there's The Preschooler.  He was was four in April.  It's only with him that I began to realise that there are many types of weaning from breastfeeding, there's the physical, the mental and the emotional.    It's not simply a matter of shutting up the milk bar, there's a whole host of tangled purposes within breastfeeding other than the obvious nutrition.  He's the opposite in personality to Thing Two, everything is emphasised with him, he's our little diva.  Life seems so much larger and dramatic to him.  He explodes faster and harder be it with happiness, anger or fear and thus finds it especially hard to come back together again.

The physical was out of our hands.  Pregnancy has dried my milk up, despite his best efforts to keep it going.  It got to the point where even that tiny feed at bedtime made me curl my toes and grimace yet he just wasn't ready to stop.  We'd cut down from an hour feed to a thirty minute one to a ten minute one over the months, then it was a quick 'count to ten' which became a count to five.  Sometimes all he needed was that quick suck because it wasn't always about the milk.  It's much much more.  It's security.  It's comfort.  It wasn't so much the milk he needed, he needed the confirmation that if he needed it, he could have it.  It was a connection, a security.  Often when tired, his hands would creep towards my cleavage, just to touch it, just to again, feel that connection.  he found it calming and soothing.

For The Preschooler it wasn't just about hunger or thirst of the physical kind, it also sated an emotional hunger.  When feeding he knew he was 'home', that place in your head where if only for a few minutes the world makes sense and everything is okay.

It helped him calm down be it from tiredness, over stimulation, anger , fear or hurt.  It grounded him.

So yes, we could have simply shut up shop, no more meme's yet through him I've been enlightened into the sheer complexity of a nursing relationship from the perspective of a child.  It's an invaluable parenting tool for a parent.  It's an invaluable dealing with life tool for a child.  He wasn't ready to be weaned, we had to ride the full journey of wean-ing.

It's not just about the milk.

It was never just about the milk.

I was ready for the physical aspect of nursing to be over, as I mentioned previously my milk was drying up.  The actual physical act of nursing was uncomfortable, even painful, and that in turn had an impact on my attitude towards it.  Yet do I miss it?  Absolutely.  Thankfully he understands that the milk is all gone yet still he'll occasionally say in such a solemn little voice 'I wish I could still have meme's' and my heart breaks a little more.  It's no longer an angry or frantic need for it, it's the wistful acceptance and sadness that haunts me.  The fact I can no longer provide something he loved and wanted and on several deeper levels, needed.  It's the mature fashion in which he can talk about something from the past that meant something to him.

I'm grateful though that we had as long as we did and in a way, I'm grateful that something other than him or I instigated the weaning so that it was gradual and necessary rather than one-sided or enforced.

So when weaning, if you're finding it hard or indeed if your nursling is struggling just remember:

It's not just about the milk.

It was never just about the milk.

The act of breastfeeding, to a child is so much more.  It will always be so much more than milk.

It's their sanctuary, their safety net, their anchor and the most rudimentary direct connection they have to their heart i.e you.

Is it any wonder that some children thus find it harder to give up than others?  Even as adults, some of us need that extra bit of comfort in life.

Incidentally, his fingers were fine.  

Ch-ch-changes

At the grand old age of three years, nine and a half months The Toddler has had his first ever haircut, yes.... his beautiful golden mane is gone.  There was must rejoicing from The Husband and The Mother who've been campaigning for quite some time for him to lose the locks.  Evidently, despite The Toddlers gender confidence, others weren't so confident and were bothered on his behalf.  However, I stood my ground and refused to give in to a complete crop. 

I'll give him his dues, The Toddler was miraculously unperturbed by the whole event as some stranger in an unfamiliar environment went at his hair with scissors, unlike I who was swallowing copious amounts of rampant hormones and trying not to weep.  The only inkling of a reaction he displayed was being somewhat pissed off every time some rogue hairs landed on the screen of The Husbands phone which he'd been allowed to play upon.

If only the changes for my sweet boy ended there yet alas this year will be full of unstoppable necessities that feel as if they're steam rollering over us.

Last week saw him receiving his MMR, something we delay with The Spawn until they're over 3.5 yrs of age and yet again something he remarkably took in his stride with an indignant 'ouch!' and a mere second of a wibble.  When did my tiny get so grown up and brave?

That leads us to this week, the start of Nursery.  Although eligible for five sessions a week we're only sending him two, again this is how we did it with Things One and Two.  Obviously if he asks he will go more.   This will be a totally alien situation to him.

If only the changes stopped there..... later this year he'll be moving out of my room and co-sleeping and into a room with Thing Two and be totally weaned.  End of August he'll become a Big Brother and come September he'll be in full time school.

Such a big year for my tiny boy.