We got home from the store. I opened up a bag of seaweed and placed it on his table, hoping it’d buy me a few minutes to go to the bathroom in peace. I hadn’t even sat down on the toilet for ten seconds before the door swung open. With bits of seaweed covering his face and his grubby hands reaching out to me, he called my name, “Mama. Mama. Mama.”

He started reaching for my chest. “Mama, dudu,” he said, asking for milk. 

I gently pushed his hands away. “You’ve got seaweed on your hands. Go. Eat the seaweed. I’m coming soon.”

“Mama, dudu.  Mama, dudu,” he repeated.

I let out a sigh, picked him up, and pulled up my shirt. He drinks his milk with a seaweed covered mouth, grabbing onto my other side with a seaweed covered hand.

And I just sit there. Done peeing. But I sit there until he is done.

I snapped a picture of it. I won’t share that here because my mama already thinks I’m an over-sharer. 🙂

But I wanted a picture to remember. What it was like to give my absolute everything to this kid.

My body, my time, my energy.

When I look at this picture now, I see just that. A belly that hasn’t seem to find its way back to what it was prior to pregnancy. My skin stretched, leaving stripes behind. Stripes that will never go away. A baby – nay, a toddler – attached to my chest.

My body broke open to give life to this guy.

And my body kept giving life to this guy when he was earthside.

And now I guess my body is giving him life in a different way. Comfort. Love. Mama’s closeness.

Never did I imagine we’d take our breastfeeding journey this far. When he could come and ask me for milk while I’m taking a pee break.

But, here we are.

Some day we’ll be done.

Today is not that day.

Question of the Day:

If you are a breastfeeding mama, how long did you/have you nurse(d) your little one?