Dear Lily: Do you need me anymore?

Dear Lily,

In just a few short weeks, you'll be turning one, and it seems like you sense the big moment in advance. And as exhausting as the last 20 months have been, the reality that our relationship is shifting, that you seem no longer to need me in the ways you have, is overwhelming to me.

Tonight, you nursed for a fraction of the time you used to; the hours have decreased into minutes, and now I begin to count the seconds. When you turned away to suck your thumb, indicating you were satiated, I placed you on my left shoulder, just as I always have. You babbled a bit, kicked your toes inside your sleep sack, then began to wiggle in frustration as you realized that you just couldn't get comfortable. I pulled you a little tighter to my chest, buried my nose in your soft, warm neck, and stood as carefully as I could. As I always do, I maneuvered my way to the crib, kissed your left temple gently, and laid you in your bed--where you swiftly settled for the night. And so, as I prayed over you (as your daddy and I do every night) and tiptoed out of the room, the tears began to prick my eyes. Gone are the nights when you nursed for 20 minutes, then required another 10 minutes of rocking to fall asleep; gone are the nights when you far preferred our arms over your crib. In the midst of those nights, a bedtime like the one we had tonight seemed like a dream that would never come true, but tonight I longed for those seemingly endless snuggles. (I do see the irony in all of this, of course, for the newborn snuggles don't come without the new-parent sleep deprivation, and the marathon nursing sessions brought prolonged pain and a lack of ability to accomplish anything on my to-do list. But hindsight is rather rosy on this occasion.)

I hope that, one day down the road, I'll reread this letter to you and laugh, for there will be new snuggles and new challenges, new bonds and new needs, new memories and new heartaches. Even tonight as I struggle with the idea that you're starting to wean yourself, as I wonder what you will need me for when it's not the comfort of nursing or nutrition of breast milk, I know have new things to look forward to each day. I love how, when you're finished nursing after you wake up, you now happily sit on my lap, first resting your head on my chest as you suck your thumb, then slowly waking up as you greet the day with giggles of glee and high-pitched squeals as your kitties join us in the nursery. I love how content you are to approach the morning from the safety of your mama's lap as I tell you what our day has in store. And I treasure your latest discovery. Much as Wendy convinced Peter Pan that a thimble was a kiss, you have deduced that attaching your open mouth to our noses for a moment or two is what we must expect when we ask you for a kiss. We cannot help but applaud you every time you lean into our noses, mouth open wide.

And so I know--I really do--that you will always need your mama, for I still need my mom even all these many years later. But tonight feels bittersweet, and I don't want to lose that reality, that knowledge that things which once brought me such much angst and frustration are accompanied by sad longing as they begin to come to an end.

I adore you, my bug. I will always be here to comfort you, to resolve your needs as best I can--because it is my privilege to be your mama.

With all my love and all my heart,
Your mommy