When I was pregnant, I think I read somewhere that pregnancy and parenting all comes down to the art of letting go. Continually, over and over again. At birth, at cutting the cord, at every stage as the child continually grows into her own space and personhood.
I am at the weaning stage. It is a gradual process for Minkie and me. The slowness is hard. It's one step forward, one step back (which sounds like we're not progressing toward weaning, and it sometimes it feels like we're not, but I think we are, so let me amend that to two steps forward, one step back).
I miss having regular cycles. I miss the progesterone high of pregnancy (that's some good stuff, progesterone). It's a rough landing. Minkie's having a growth spurt and wanted to nurse more lately, and I found myself melting into bliss this evening as she nursed because nursing is the one time I totally focus on beautiful things. I think about flowers, about D, about cheery things. I do not worry about the state of my parents' relationship, my mother's mental health, my husband's lack of sleep, my own harried schedule.
As weaning continues, I will have to answer the hard question: when during the day will I provide myself the opportunity to lavish in beautiful thoughts when Minkie no longer needs to nurse?