Not ready

Dearest Daughter, this is the first of many times that you'll grow up faster than I'm ready for. Someday you won't let me hold your hand any more. Someday you'll want to ride your bike to school. Someday you'll tell me I'm awful and unreasonable. And someday you'll take your teddy bears and your first car to college with you. I won't be ready for any of it, but you will be.

Every day and night for 6 months we've snuggled together in our rocking chair. The soft-focus brochure photos of a nursing mommy and baby are beautiful, aren't they? After weeks of struggle and a sense of stubbornness and determination I didn't know I had, we finally got there. I could hold you close, feel your breaths in your belly and tuck your sweet, soft baby hairs behind your ear. Your tiny fist laid on your face. Your eyes closed in complete peace. I'd lift you to my shoulder, cheek to cheek, pat your back and lay you down with a kiss.

The truth is, I didn't really mind the night feedings. Well, once we got those feedings down to once or twice per night, that is. Half asleep, I'd hobble into your dark bedroom and scoop you into my arms. In our rocking chair, your cries would stop, your muscles would ease and we'd fall asleep together in our quiet corner. You and me while the world slept around us.

Then the day came when it was time for you to learn to drink from a bottle, and time for me to learn to be okay with it. Part of raising a child is doing what's hard for me so she can be healthy, learn independence and strength, I told myself. Over and over. Finally, you did it. And you got good at it.

Now, at only 6 months, I cherish our nighttime nursing routine because it's the only one left. You've grown curious, stubborn and independent. You're like your mommy. Six months is far too young, but so is 18.