Two days ago, just before bedtime, my littlest boy found his way into the kitchen cupboard. Once there he picked out several of our beautiful bowls from the Boleslawiec Polish Pottery that we had been given as wedding presents, and smashed them on the concrete floor.
It sounds heartless to say, but this was just the push I needed to finally tackle the last remaining feed. So that evening we did everything we usually do, but when it came to feedy time we made some warm 'special juice' in a beaker for him and Jack, and sat and had that with our cuddles instead.
I was expecting a big fuss, and he did scrabble and fret a little, but he very quickly excepted that it wasn't happening. He had his juice and went to bed as normal. Then last night we did the same, only this time the scrabbling and fretting was greatly reduced.
I'm not naive enough to think that that is it, and I'm sure there will be occasions over the next few weeks when he really struggles, but I'm so relieved that this hasn't been an ordeal for either of us so far.
I really feel that we are weaning together, and have been for the last six months as we slowly reduced the number of feeds we were having.
I have loved feeding Fred, and all of my children , but just as I have had to accept that Fred will be my last child, now I must accept that my personal breastfeeding journey is nearly over. And that's just as it should be.