A few years ago, a friend of mine told me about a book she read regarding raising babies. The premise is you never really pay attention to the "lasts," because you're so focused on experiencing the "firsts." I haven't read it, because frankly I don't know that I could get halfway through without bawling. The last time you breathe in her baby head smell, the last time her smile is really just because of gas, the last time the baby stays where you put her instead of scooting towards the closest toy, the last time she crawls, the last time you rock her to sleep.... but as they get older you start to notice the lasts. The last time she sleeps in her crib, the last time she mispronounces her sister's name because she can't say "Ls", the last time she drinks from a cup with a top, the last time you drop her off at preschool... you start to notice because those moments begin to pass so so quickly. Although having three, you barely notice anything about the third one- first or last.
As one of the two people who actually read my blog, you probably know that Mini Mouse is two years old. (Two years, one month, one week and two days to be exact). And you know that the only thing she likes more than the real Minnie Mouse is drinking Mommy Milk. As in, she'll flat out slap, hit and bite over it. And you also know that because of her extensive list of food allergies and sensitivities, I also have an extensive list of foods I avoid eating to keep her healthy. It's been over two years since I've tasted cheese, people. Don't ever listen if someone says having kids isn't a huge sacrifice. They're lying. (Or they've never nursed a demanding toddler with multiple food issues and gone two years without tasting pizza.)
I didn't really pay attention last night as I nursed her before bed. I should have noticed that it was the last time. I would have been more reverent, less in a hurry to get her to sleep; I would have cherished the moment because it really might have been the very last time I ever nurse one of my babies. I nursed my babies for a grand total of 55 months- over 4.5 years. I enjoyed almost every moment of it. I'd be lying if I said I loved every second of nursing- kind of like those little old ladies who approach you in the grocery store (when one of your kids is wailing, another one is throwing food out of the cart onto the floor, and the third one is giving you attitude about how lame it is to even have to go shopping) and she says, "My you have your hands full. You should enjoy every.single.second because before you know it, they'll be all grown up. I loved every.single.second of this age, don't you? Because they grow up so.fast. They won't be little for long. You really should be cherishing every single second, because mine are all grown up now and I'd give anything to be where you are just once more." And you're thinking, "Well, you're a liar. With a really bad memory about what it's really like raising toddlers."
There's a small chance that the next time I see a nursing mother, I might cry a little bit. And I might tell her to enjoy every.single.moment, because before she knows it, her baby will be holding up two little fingers and saying, "My a big girl- I five
[she really said that] and I not drink milk because da milk is broken." I figured I had more time. I didn't realize she wouldn't be little for long. And that I might just give anything to be where I was, just once more.
