If you know anyone in California, you’ve probably heard them describing the heat of late. (I say “heat,” but to someone who lives in India, Spain, or Alabama, it’s more like a gentle breeze.) In the balmy 81-degree heat of yesterday morning, we decided to hit the beach.
At one point, just an hour or so into our beach visit, Seabass got really weird, really angsty. He was playing with a bucket in the water and something about it got him really frustrated all of the sudden. I tried consoling him verbally, tried appeasing his demons with snacks, etc. Nothing would stop his whining and crying.
It was the first time in a long while – several months – that I’ve thought to breastfeed him outside of the usual schedule (i.e. upon waking up in the morning, going down for nap, and going down for the night), but it struck me as the right thing to do in the moment. My friend Ginger calls it “checking in with the home team.” There’s something really effective about breastfeeding for calming an anxious little boy down, so I wrapped him in a soft towel, found a secluded spot and nursed him down from his ledge.
I’d been thinking lately that I’m ready to stop breastfeeding. Sometimes I fantasize about having my body to myself again, and being able to fit into several of my pre-pregnancy shirts…which are a little snug around the chest, ahem. I also look forward to a day when Jake can put Seabass to bed without me. That will be a day worth celebrating.
But resting there in the gorgeous California sun, with the waves crashing nearby and the world’s most beautiful child in my arms, I felt like I never want to wean him. Clearly, we’re not yet ready.