11 months

Just sitting in the airport, my kids at home. There is an ache in my breast that is more than my heart. Yesterday was the last day I nursed my baby boy, my little man.

Don't get me wrong, I am beyond thrilled to be headed to Austin. Hubby is by my side (wondering why I'm blogging on our layover). The kids are home with Baba in baking heaven. I get to wear necklaces again, like mine from here and here. And I'm going to QuiltCon. Hello!?

But I nursed my baby boy for the last time yesterday. We shared a fleeting moment in the pre-dawn light, our last gathering in the dark, skin to skin. I can't admit to loving nursing, but I have loved the relationship it builds. That I am so needed, that we have something no one else can lay claim to. But he's a mobile, curious creature now. He's got more important things to check out (like his sisters) and greater things to eat. 

Seriously greater things, he has well earned his nickname of The Garbage Truck.

So I kissed him softly in the middle of the night as we tiptoed out of the house on our way to airport. If you see me this weekend, hug me gently or just slap my butt, because there is an ache in my breast.