The End of an Era

It's all over.

My daughter is a nursling no more, and she has now voluntarily gone enough days without getting her milk from the tap that I'm all dried up.
Now the boobs just sag because they're tired.
No more will I have to worry about leaking. No more ugly nursing bras. Okay, I'm glad about the nursing bras going away. I was thinking of burning them, but with all the money I spent, I just couldn't. I donated them instead.
But alas, this is our last child, and there's no turning back from that decision, thanks to a urologist and brave husband. I'm too old for more kids. We're too broke for more kids. The house is too small. The cars are too small. We're already running on empty with just two. The reasons go on and on.
But there's an element of sadness, of finality, of... SOMEthing that is unexplainable. I'll never be pregnant again. I'll never make milk again. The next infant relative that I'll hold in my arms - if ever - will most likely be a grandchild. That's a long, long way off.
This milestone was not met lightly on my part. I'd consider encouraging weaning, then would decide against it. I did this for months. Eventually, my daughter decided to make the decision for me. 19 months is enough mom, thanks. Dad can have them back now.
Now, a milestone that I'd love to reach is potty training. My previous entry explains why.