Too Big for His Britches

I am going to warn those of you that are occasional readers of this blog that what I am about to talk about is really for my benefit of keeping up with Jackson's life and may not be suitable for the squeamish. Wednesday, February 2 at 7:30 p.m. was the last time Jackson nursed. I have been in a state of mourning ever since. We woke up Thursday morning and he refused to let me feed him. I thought maybe he wasn't hungry and then I realized we were talking about my child who is forever hungry. So I heated him up a bottle and he drank it up. By Friday night I was in tears and feeling rejected. This has been going on now for a week and a half. I still try at least once a day to no avail, but he turns his head and pushes away. My comedian of a husband says that maybe the other babies at day care started making fun of him and calling him a "titty baby." Funny. But this is just another step towards becoming a big boy, but at 7 and a half months I was just not ready. I planned on nursing him until he was a year old. I still have plenty of milk in the freezer to last until the is a year old since I was a dairy cow in a previous life, but the bond of feeding him is now just a memory. I am better with it now since I know he will still be getting the best from my frozen milk, but it still stinks. I guess he will be like Matt and me and always be grown up even as a toddler, but both of our mothers were able to nurse us until we were 12 months old. Sigh. I am done throwing my pity party now back to work!