This is the end...

And it's bittersweet.

For the first time in 5 years I am not pregnant or nursing.

Over the last couple of weeks, Luke has weaned. Or I dried up. Or more than likely, some combination of the two.

I remember how sad I was when Max stopped nursing. I was five months pregnant, and he was 23 months old. Since Luke was on the way, I knew that I would have another chance. Now, I really am done.

Nursing my babies has been an incredible gift. They were both easy and avid nursers from the days they were born. Other than some minor discomfort at the beginning and one round of mastitis, things have been textbook. And don't think that for a second I don't know just how lucky I am for that. Years of late night feedings, months of pumping, hours upon hours sitting with babe in arms. It was something that I could give them that no one else could. I am proud that neither of my boys ever had a drop of formula. And it may sound silly, but I can't tell you the number of prayers I've said in thanks for the privilege of breastfeeding.

Luke is 26 months old. I'm not ready for him to not be my baby any more. But it's times like these that I have to admit he's growing up. I already miss those eyes looking up at me like I'd given him the world. The weight of him in my arms. The wiggling legs and satiated grin. They're burned into my brain and onto my soul. I hope that I never forget.

I miss it already.