Dear Jacob XIII

Dear Jacob,

 

I just weaned you, and I think you knew it. Tonight you nursed a little longer than you have lately and you let out just one cry a few minutes after I left your room. This was a really tough thing for me to do, even though your daddy and I both believe it’s the right thing for us.

 

My dear Jacob, a year ago I didn’t know what it meant to love you. That haziness was heavily influenced by extreme sleep deprivation, but the other part of it was simply lack of experience. Now, as I end almost two years of regulating my body to serve you—first while pregnant and then while nursing—I realize in a profound way what it means to be your mom. For your entire existence up until tonight, you have been physically linked to me, and I to you. Tonight the physical piece ends, but what we built in that rocking chair is marked on our hearts. I know it is on mine.

 

If you heard my voice waver during the third verse of “Amazing Grace” tonight, that’s because I was crying, both for what I’m losing and what I’m gaining. My dad says that the sign of a good manager is when those he or she manages can do the job independently. And that’s what you’re embarking on tonight, my dear, whether or not you know it. You’re not totally on your own, of course—and you never will be—but I think you know what I mean.

 

Somehow tonight reminded me of the last night of college, when my whole class stayed up all night to watch the sun rise over the parking garage (it’s classier than it sounds). After I went back to my dorm, knowing I’d only get a few hours’ sleep before commencement, I cried for just a few minutes. I knew that my time at school was complete, that I’d done what I’d come to do, and that exciting things lay ahead (like marrying your daddy). But still, something was ending, and it was okay to be sad about that. Oh, Jacob, don’t be surprised by how many hugs you get tomorrow.

 

Thank goodness for cell phones, email, and most of all, mommy friends who have offered encouragement to me today. These ladies you’ll know as your aunts have made tonight a little easier on me, and for that I am so grateful. I pray you’ll have such dear friends to help you through the tough transitions in your life, too. And you know your daddy and I will always be there for you. We love you so much.

 

Thank you for being our little boy and for making us into a family. Tonight we are all taking one giant step together, and with faith, hope, and love, I know we are only on to bigger and better things.

 

Oh, and more soymilk, but some things can’t be helped.

 

As always, my little boy, I write with all my heart,
Mom

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4 Comments to “Dear Jacob XIII”

  1. Dear Lindsey,

    Thanks for making me cry.

    Rebecca

  2. This brought tears to my eyes. I remember the day I last nursed my first – I told him the whole story of his arrival into this world: when we found out we had conceived, when he was born, what a journey the first years and months had been, and how today was another big step for him. And I cried, too – you can’t not. Thank you for sharing this. I’m glad I stumbled upon your blog today.

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