Fifteen Months

Dear Baby Boy,

Now that you're fifteen months old, I'm realizing my opportunities to call you that are quickly dwindling, so I'm going to use that nickname every chance I get. Some day all too soon I'll let the name slip out, and you'll just roll your eyes and sigh at me. "Mo-om!"
This month was an exciting one for you because you experienced your second Christmas. You certainly seemed to enjoy it more than your first, as you were awake for much of this one, but you still didn't quite seem to grasp the holiday spirit. I'm looking forward to next year when you may start to understand that there are goodies underneath that bright paper and shiny bows. Perhaps you'll be more interested in ripping off the paper and playing with the toys instead. Still, you seem to be enjoying all the loot from your many relatives who love you.

Your big gift this year, and the one you appear to love the most, is Angie, your first puppy. Once you realized she was coming home with us to stay, you became absolutely obsessed with her. More than once you've tried crawling into our bathroom where you know her pen is just to pull up on the side and look at her. You coo at her in your "kitty" voice and try to imitate all the noises she makes, her growls, barks, and whines. Daddy and I love to hear it; the noises are lots cuter out of your mouth than hers. You laugh uproariously at Angie's antics and grab her rope so that you can play with her yourself. I sometimes think you can't wait to get just a little bigger and can play with her without having her nip at your hands and run around and play chase like Daddy does.
You have also figured out how to say Angie. That's certainly telling, considering the only intelligible words we've heard from you so far are Mama, Dada, hi, Grandpa, and kitty. The only ones you've said with any regularity are Mama and kitty, so you must really love that puppy to have learned her name so fast. On the other hand, you use Mama as your catch-all word right now. Of course, you use it when you want me, but we also get to hear it any time you want anything. "Mama" is just your way of expressing yourself right now. It gets our attention anyway.

Several weeks ago when it looked like you were growing tired of nursing, I decided that if you were willing to continue until you were fifteen months old, then I would wean you then. If I remember right, that's about when I gave it up, so that felt plenty long enough to let you nurse. I've been so proud of myself for making it this long; I hated breastfeeding in the beginning.

Then this morning I got you up as normal and headed straight to your high chair for breakfast instead of stopping on the couch for your morning nursing session, the only one you still get. You fought me when I tried to strap you in, screaming at the top of your lungs. You knew something was different, a change from your morning routine, and it broke my heart. I'd already had an internal debate going in my own mind about whether I thought I was ready for you to wean. Your resistance to the weaning was the final straw. Your breakfast started off with a nursing session as usual after all.

In a way, I'm disappointed with myself for caving when I'd set a goal for myself, but I can't bear to hurt you, even in this tiny way, just because I told myself I'd do something. What does it matter if you continue nursing for one more day or one more week? I'm still working us towards weaning, but I'll slow down. There's no hurry for you to grow up.

You're growing up way too fast in every way, growing taller each time you wake up and more mature every day. You truly won't be my baby boy much longer. I'll still love you just as much when you're my toddler boy and my teenage boy and my grown-up boy, though. But you'll have to forgive me if a part of me will always think of you as my dear little baby boy.

Love,

Mommy