As Olive approaches 2 years old, and as I look back on two years of nursing her, and as I look forward to what is bound to be at least a little more time of continuing to nurse her, I am struck by how easy it has been to decide to keep going.
Before I had a kid, any breastfeeding I saw was unusual, and nursing toddlers seemed <i>so big</i> to me. But when it was <i>my</i> kid, he just looked like — my kid. Who needed nummies just like when he was a newborn, until he eventually didn’t anymore. I do like for it to be gentle and nonjudgmental like that, where people know it’s just a child seeking comfort and nutrition and a mother responding. I stopped feeling comfortable in public at some point, though, so I know there was a time when I decided it was best to keep it private, that I knew there were strangers (or not strangers) who would judge us. My second nursling is 20 months, and he just seems so much like a baby to me still — it’s hard to imagine that nursing him is odd to anybody.