I weaned both my kids shortly after finding out I was pregnant. Aside from having to breastfeed in between migraines and pukes, the idea of tandem nursing a toddler and a newborn just wasn't something I was willing to do.
I decided that my boobs were meant to sustain one small human (and one well-behaved big one) at a time.
I remember being visiting by a friendly lactation consultant after Drew's birth who was insistent that I allow Quinlan a little "taste" if she asked for it.
"She can have a little taste of juice from her sippy cup," I replied quite firmly. "But she's not getting anything more from me."
Fortunately, my kids never gave me a hard time when I cut them off. With Quinlan, I stuffed my sports bra full of cabbage, relinquished my daily bedtime duties to the huz and that was it. And in Drew's case, I just went away to Johnson's
Camp Baby Weaning Camp. But in both cases, neither asked for boobs, grabbed in my shirt, or stared jealously at the suckling baby.
I admit that after hearing all these stories of kids unhooking their mom's bras and screaming "BOOBIES" in the middle of Target, I was surprised that neither of my exclusively breastfed kids ever asked to nurse, that is until just a few days ago when I was feeding Margot.
"Baby eat. Boob." said Drew, huddling over us and pointing at my nipple. He sat back for a minute, obviously pondering the situation, and then with big eyes and an earnest grin added, "ME EAT?"
To which I replied, "Sorry kid. You'll have to wait at least until high school for that sort of thing... And hopefully by that time, you'll sound less like a caveman."