Ben is 20 months now. Almost 2.
Last night, for the first time, he slept in his own bed all night. Usually he starts off in his own bed, and then at some point wakes, drowsy and confused, and cries out. I carry his body - his head on my shoulder - his breath soft and even - into our bed. He is all limbs now. Long, lean legs and arms. Not the tiny baby I once cradled.
I think he is weaned. He has not nursed in several days. The last time he asked, squeezing his fist, signing milk as he looked up at me, I said "maybe later" and he moved on, distracted, forgetting to revisit the issue.
It ended quietly, slowly. No engorgement. No tears. Just a simple transition. A movement that is steady, planned - like a skillful driver switching lanes on the highway. One moment we were there - now we are here. I hardly noticed.
The deep need of infancy is fading. He is his own little person. More confident. More independent.
But the love is the same. Deep. Abiding. Holding him feels like what I was always meant to do. Like, finally, coming home.
