The thing about the last time is that you sometimes don’t
know it’s the last time. On Sunday, Audrey woke up from a long nap and I went
into her room to pick her up, give her a hug and snuggle her sweet cheek
against mine as we looked in her mirror. I knew that afternoon I’d be loading
up my rental car, spending an hour or so with her and Danny at the park before leaving
them for a week-long work trip. I packed my pump and bought a new package of
breastmilk storage bags (I gave the rest of mine to Stacy since I never really
though I’d need them at this point). I sat down in the glider in Audrey’s room
as she latched on and stared up at me with her sleepy eyes and I combed her fluffy
hair with my fingers. She reached up to touch my nose and my eyes and lips as I
mimicked her and touched her tiny little features and told her her nose was
cute and her eyes were beautiful, those crystal blue stunners.
I realized this could be the last time she’d nurse, and I
felt a rush of emotions. I felt sad for the end of this sweet time with my baby
girl. I felt lucky because I was able to breastfeed for so long, pumping at
work behind closed blinds for eight long months, and then being able to
continue after (mostly) retiring my pump. I felt thankful that my body
supported her and her brother through pregnancy, birth, and infancy, despite facing
the possibility at age 18 that I’d never be able to have children at all and,
after she was born, knowing that I’d never do it again. I longed for the tiny
baby she once was and admired the big girl she is becoming. As she reached up
to twirl my hair, I felt the joy and peace of that tiny moment with my baby
girl. In case it was the last time, I wanted to remember it.
Three days into my trip, I pumped an ounce and a half and
know that by the time I see her again on Sunday morning, there may not be any
milk left. She may try to nurse, and she may cry. Or maybe she will just give
me a hug and fight her brother for the first hug. But I’m not too sad, at least
not right now. While I may not always now when the last times will happen—I start
to cry thinking about the lasts yet to come—I know I didn’t miss out on this
one.
