We made it!! So why am I so sad?

So my little man turns 6 months old today. 6 months... I can barely believe it. The time has flown, well flown and dragged somehow simultaneously. When I was pregnant I set my goal to exclusively breastfed him until 6 months as the WHO recommends and not to introduce solids (or anything else for that matter) a second before that. Not as easy as it sounds. I've dealt with everything from having to check out of the hospital AMA 2 days after having my stomach butchered because the Doctors were going to feed him formula against my wishes as "a baby that big cannot possibly survive on breast milk alone", to pressure from my In-laws to feed him oh pretty much ANYTHING else, to a bad latch that we didn't fix for a good two weeks of bleeding, cracked, blood blistered nipples, to serious supply issues, to getting past pumping in an office at work where there was practically a revolving door of people walking in and out, you name it we experienced it.

And we got through it. 6 Months... It's just flew by.

It wasn't always easy, some mornings I would be sitting in the chair, the pump on one side, the baby on the other, barely able to keep my eyes open after working all night, but still needing 2 more bottles to have enough milk for the next shift, pumping sometimes for an hour or more, trying to extract just a few more precious drops. But then there were the moments that made it completely udderly (yes, yes pun intended) absolutely worth it. Sometimes he reaches up and pets my face or twirls my hair in his little hands as he is eating, or the Tyrannosaurus growls and birdlike squawks right before he throws himself at the boobie after not seeing me all night, or the way he hums to himself as he is falling asleep, his tummy full of milk. I wouldn't trade those moments for a million dollars, not even for all the money in the world.

For the last few weeks the little man has been literally throwing himself at our plates, fists frantically trying to grab food out of our hands (and sometimes our mouths) and despite wanting to delay foods a little longer, I know he is ready to start eating solids. Tonight we will give him his first real food. I am thinking either a steamed carrot or a chunk of Batata (like sweet potato), I haven't decided. We are practicing Baby led Weaning (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baby_led_weaning) and I am so looking forward to seeing his face at his first taste of "real" food. Despite this, a part of me is really, really sad.

It's hard on me being a working Mom. I had always wanted to stay home with my babies for at least 6 months after they were born. Unfortunately life got in the way and I had no choice but to go back to work only 2 months after he was born. It's so hard for me to leave him, despite knowing that his Babushka and Tchyochya (Aunt) spoil him rotten and dearly love him. I admit I have pangs of jealousy every time he breaks into a huge grin when they come to pick him up, his little arms reaching out to them. A piece of me wishes he would cling to me, even just for a moment, acknowledging that I am Mommy, and that is my trump card. As much as I know that it means he is happy and well adjusted and confident, it is still hard. The nights that I work someone else comforts him when he is sad, rocks him to sleep, sings him lullabies, kisses his tears, tickles his chub. I know I can't get those moments back. It hurts me a little inside when I hear how much he just looooves so and so or such and such. Breastfeeding was just mine, I didn't have to share it. Yeah someone else has to give him a bottle when I am gone, but it is MY milk. I made it, and sometimes I have to work damned hard for it. Only I could do that for him, that I didn't have to share...

Now things are changing.

I'm not the only person in the world who knows how to steam carrots, or peel a banana. Other people are more than capable of putting an ear of corn or a chunk of potato on a tray for him to grab with his little fists. My chunk of tomato will taste exactly the same as the chunk of tomato that his Tchyochya fixes him. I can't help but feel a sense of loss, a moment of sadness mixed in with the pride that my little man is growing up.

I know I have to let go, to let him grow and be the wonderful amazing little man that he is. But I can't lie, sometimes I just want to freeze time and scoop him up and just mush my face into his neck and smell him for oh, the next ten years or so. I know I will still breastfeed him, for as long as he wants, whether thats another 6 months, or another year, or another three years. But I know that as time goes by, the times he will need to nurse will become fewer, and those incredible, wonderful moments that we share will get farther between. Yes, there will be other incredible wonderful moments, but I am already feeling a sense of mourning at the idea of introducing solid food. I can't imagine how I will feel when he decides to wean himself completely.

I am so proud to have made it to 6 months, I would love to go back to that sorry excuse for a Hospital and do a little I-told-you-so dance on the desk at the Nurse's station in front of all the Doctors who told me it wasn't possible. I am amazed at how something that at times seemed so clumsy, so painful, or tough has become so effortless. A dance of sort, the motions so fluid it feels like it's choreographed, a routine built upon night after night of him in our bed, tucked against my body, one of his little hands on my chest, one reaching behind him to touch his Daddy. A rhythm that has grown over time from scooping him up the second I get home from work, nursing him when he's hungry, when he's tired, when he's hurting.

I know that I am giving him so much more than just milk. More than antibodies, nutrients, sustenance. I am literally giving him a part of me.

I am just not sure how a carrot can replace that.