Tiny has weaned herself. Just three nights ago, at bed time, I asked her if she wanted milk to which she replied, 'No!' and then happily went to sleep. I felt a bit miffed, but was sure she'd be back the next night. The next night I asked her if she wanted milk, and she responded by walking to the kitchen cupboard, getting a cup and then chanting 'Nulk! Nulk! Nulk!' So she was poured a cup of milk. She didn't drink it and then went to bed. Tonight is the third night and she's not even said one thing about 'nulk'.
I didn't feel so bad the other two nights because it didn't strike me as anything but a fickle almost-two-year-old. I thought she'd be back. Not that I was thinking we'd contine on with 'nulk' for much longer. The Doctor weaned at 20 months, and I remember a sadness that crept in at that time. But this time around, the boobie-mad Tiny has gone cold turkey and I can't help but feel a little wistful. I'm know it will pass, but my little Tiny, turning two in a few weeks. So I'll just appease myself by looking at old photos that really aren't that old. Sigh.
If you're in for some light comic relief, you can take a different walk down mammary lane and read my post about breastfeeding when Tiny was just 8 months old.
