Breastfeeding is hard in the beginning, harder in the end, and hardest when it’s over.

I literally cried silent tears tonight afte my little girl, for the fifth night, slept without breastfeeding. I felt the distance between us when she decided to sleep on her own under the blanket in a position she chose. Not in my chest nor in my shoulder, but on her pillow, cuddled on her side.

For many months I tried to stop her doing it. I complained that it’s painful with her teeth so sharp. That she’s too big for it already. I was trying to make her grow up and be a big girl but she won’t. She likes to be a baby. She likes to be carried. She likes the comfort and warmth.

And now, that she can finally sleep without it, my foolish heart is regretting. I want to nurse her again just like when she was a newborn. I should have not complained. I should have given it more willingly. Without making her feel guilty for wanting it at her age. Two years and eight months in our breastfeeding journey may be long to some people, even to me. But now that it is over, it felt short. It felt abrupt.

It is the end.Or I hope so. Or I hope not.