Samhain, death and rebirth, and our relationship

In early August 2009, Matt asked for my hand in marriage.

In late August this year, I asked him for a divorce.

Halloween 2010 marked our wedding, a joyous occasion celebrated with loving family and friends.

This year, Halloween is marked by a prominent realty sign and opening our doors to potential new homeowners.

And the world, it keeps on turning...

via

The cycle of birth, growth, death, and renewal plays over and over again through natural systems and human lives. Embracing these cycles is difficult; it begs the acceptance of things coming to their ends, naturally or otherwise, and forces us to consider what may come as we are reborn. Regardless of our desire for things to remain the same, they are in constant flux and will continue to change.

Tomorrow is Samhain, and as the growing period ends and death lingers in the air, I can’t help but consider these cycles and the inevitable, sometimes painful evolutions that come with each revolution. In our lives, we experience death in so many ways: Loved ones passing, losing jobs or homes, a person changing in ways you never expected.

This year, we experience the death of our marriage.

The allegorical roller coaster we rode through the majority of our relationship finally stopped when I asked for a divorce. Realistically, I endured it for far too long, and I determined I was done riding. I mean, I don’t like roller coasters, anyway; why was I forcing myself, and why make someone ride along with me?

While incredibly sad in so many ways (and some days, I still mourn the eroded foundation that led to this inevitability), in the time following my request, Matt and I have discovered what we first had and what we ended up losing along the way: Our friendship. We have returned to our bantering, our genuine care and love for each other, and our common goals. And now, we have a piece of each of our hearts that walks outside our bodies, a beautiful little boy who forever binds us.

The world around us is dying, leaves are falling, the ground is cold and unyielding, and our wedding vows follow the same path. But in this death, we’ve rediscovered each other.

I don’t regret getting or being married; saying I do would deny the importance of everything I’ve either gained along the way, not the least of which is our son, or my decision to take full responsibility for my own happiness. Nor did Matt or I fail at anything, just decided to get off the roller coaster once and for all and explore the rest of the park instead. We started our relationship as best friends, and as we end our marriage, we return full circle to that very sentiment.

When I reflect on our 10 years together and five since our wedding, the really shitty parts are of course seared into memory, but I have to remember what amazing good came of it, too. To put that aside to focus only on the shit blatantly rejects that which tied us together in the first place, and the tie to which we return.

So, our dear friends and family: Mourn the loss, provide your support, maybe even offer us a hug. We would surely appreciate that! But as the year continues and the earth springs back to life, know that we’re seeing our relationship the same way.

In the end, and as we embark on our new journeys at the turn of this wheel of the year... I’m so, so happy to have my best friend back.

Let your true voice sing

This past week has been particularly eye-opening and challenging. Along with all the other changes going on in my world now, just in time for darkness to reign supreme and for thoughts to turn even deeper inward, my world was rocked by some well-timed messages speaking directly to my soul. Call it a cosmic two-by-four, if you will.

Literally everything has been about the throat chakra (vishuddha) and jalandara bandha (“throat lock”): A yoga class, some well-placed readings, situations where I need to remove the blockage and let my words flow, a reminder to “speak ye little and listen much,” and a gift of lapis lazuli.

A photo posted by Stephanie Fox (@letitproducejoy) on Sep 24, 2015 at 6:56am PDT

Like, seriously, okay… I got the hint. ;)

The vishuddha is the body’s voice, a pressure valve which expresses energy from the other chakras. If blocked or out of balance, it can easily affect the health of all other chakras; in balance, it allows for the easy expression of what we think and feel. Personal truths are brought into the world, and the energy between body and spirit flows freely and easily.

This concept lends strongly to being impeccable with your word, a lesson learned from don Miguel Ruiz in The Four Agreements. The most difficult agreement we can make with ourselves -- and the one we must make in order to make the others -- is to allow ourselves to acknowledge and honor the power of the word, both internally and externally. Being impeccable leads to personal responsibility; every word you say holds the power to create the world around you, including within yourself. As a force for expression and communication, one must begin with powerful, positive words towards one’s self; only when we do that can we project those powerful, positive words to those around us.

I’ve been told multiple times my vishuddha is blocked or underactive. I guess I need to start believing it. ;) Most people pick up relatively quickly that I’m not one to speak my mind except when vitally important, reserving myself instead to burying those thoughts. And yes, part of it is strictly my nature; I’m an internal thinker, rarely sharing what goes on in my head. What they don’t know is the reason why.

When I was younger, I was very shy, quiet, and highly empathetic. The moniker “mighty mouse,” given to me by an elementary school teacher and carried with me through most of my life (much like “giggles,” ha), applies more than just to being strong when small, but to my quiet nature, too.

I learned very early on that speaking up meant potentially starting conflict, something I absolutely loathed, and experiencing situations where my voice was drowned or tuned out. Instead of rocking the proverbial boat, I’d either swallow my feelings or apologize and back down when I did say something in disagreement with another. Emotions, thoughts, ideas, and so forth were all pushed down in favor of nodding in mock agreement and going with the flow. This was reinforced as I grew older and through certain life situations, and eventually, I started to really believe my thoughts weren’t worth hearing.

With time -- and especially recently -- these “negative” emotions blocked up any opportunity to express the “positive” emotions, leaving me unable to speak any words at all. Sure, I appear very jovial on the surface, and by and large, I really am. But I’m admittedly terrible at communicating pretty much anything, reserving my word instead for the benefit of others rather than to express my opinions and thoughts freely.

As a result, there have been several times when refusing or finding it impossible to speak my truth created a personal reality that, quite honestly, holds little water compared to what actually exists. Inevitably, it’s led to a lack of confidence, assurance, and self-love.

So, as the bruise from being whacked so hard with that two-by-four subsides, I’m determined to create my own reality from the ground up, to acknowledge that which actually exists and state it in a way that makes me believe it. It also means shifting from “I’m not worth hearing, so best to keep quiet” to “I may not speak much, and that’s okay, but when I do, I am worth hearing.” A distinct shift towards conscious confidence, even if it’s faked at first: Much like smiling, it eventually becomes second nature.

It takes a confident person to express themselves honestly, openly, and lovingly. I’m not in control of how others deal with my personal expression (and I need to let go that anyone’s opinions or feelings are more important than my own), but I am entirely responsible for creating my own reality through the power of my words, and that means being responsible for and impeccable with my own sense of confidence.

And really, I owe it to myself.

I’m ready to speak up, to open my vishuddha, to create the confidence I should have to create the reality I will come to learn I deserve. The truth about truth is, if you don’t express it, you continue to enable that which doesn’t feel good or right.

Time to open my goddamn mouth once in awhile. :)

Positive Affirmation: I speak freely and with confidence. It is now safe for me to express my feelings and to create the life I desire. Everything I do is an expression of Love.

A Vixen with an O...

About a year ago, a friend sent me a link to Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab, knowing my love for all smells New Age, Samhain, and pumpkin. Considering this friend of mine lives in Australia and she could pin my penchant for sexy scents from half a world away, I knew I was in for something incredible. She said they make perfume oils that remind you of walking into a shop of magic, sex, and other such tawdry and delicious and sinful things.

So of course I checked it out. ;)

#BlackPhoenixAlchemyLab #O #Vixen #BPAL #perfume #essentialoils I think I just found my new favorite in O. Hot DAMN.

A photo posted by Stephanie Fox (@letitproducejoy) on Aug 17, 2015 at 2:17pm PDT

BPAL touts scents ranging "the aesthetic gamut of magickal, pagan and mythological blends, Renaissance, Medieval and Victorian formulas, and horror/Gothic-themed scents." They're fragrance oils (15-80% perfume oil) rather than eau de toilettes or that ilk, making them far more heady and captivating than most. As such, I was advised to handle with care.

The obsession started off with a bottle of Pumpkin Spice Everything, a single-note oil that boasted a "cheeky interpretation of the iconic scents of the season." They couldn't have gotten it more right: Straight out the bottle, pumpkin spice mix practically slaps you in the face. On me, it dried more like a pumpkin pie than something I would associate with Samhain, and while it was nice, it's not one I pull out often.

It did come with a few sample imp's ears, though -- this is how they get you, they include 1/32oz samples of other titillating scents you just have to have next. My absolute favorite is Vixen, and after six months of making that baby last, I finally bought a full bottle.

Know why I love this stuff so much? Because it smells (and makes me feel) like a straight-up bombshell, y'all. With its orange blossom, ginger, and patchouli, the last of which sticks with me the longest, I smell like a New Age shop and its decadent incenses and oils. Applying a bit to my pulse points is sure to raise my blood pressure.

What I've been truly waiting for, though, is a fragrance oil called O, which I swear was inspired by Story of O, a French novel of female submission with a gorgeous Parisian and sexual slavery. This ain't your 50 Shades. While I've yet to read it (I admit, the thought of doing so scares me a bit!), I've heard enough about it to wonder whether the oil nods to the book, and with that thought in my head, I just had to have it.

That may be why it scared me upon opening, too. Is that... powder? Yikes. Not what I anticipated With a mix of amber, honey, and vanilla, I was hoping for something more sensual right out the gate; someone described making an "ohh" face when she first tried it, a face I found myself making more out of confusion than bliss. But I bought it, so I should try it, right?

On the skin, it spoke heavily of honey, another thing that concerned me. It was initially too sweet! After about 20 minutes, though, it dried and slipped into a warm, decadent scent -- warm vanilla over a strong amber base and a hint of honey -- that, yes... mellowed into musk and... oh, how to describe it. I'm wearing it now and can't help but writhe a bit whenever I catch a whiff. It's like waking up the next morning thinking, "Fuck yeah, that was incredible."

You know what I'm talking about.

Is this something I'll wear on a regular basis? Alternating with my beloved Vixen, probably, but only if I sought to get into some good trouble before the end of the day. ;)

Once in a blue moon.

Last night, as the sun sighed itself to sleep, fireflies took its place to light up the night, and frogs warbled their haunting yet titillating mating song, I shot the moon.

What can I say? It was calling to me, crooning a love song that rivaled the beauty of the frogs' sex-swept serenade as I walked back from the mailbox. Such a simple action, gazing at the moon, but for some reason, I was enraptured. Seduced. And I needed to capture it.

@letitproducejoy

The moon wasn't quite full yet; when I zoom in, I can see the craggy surface piercing the night sky where darkness still clings to the edges by its fingertips. It's a bit creepy, really, seeing all but that tiny sliver of a shadow, a sure indication that something is not quite complete and there's still a faint hint of the unknown.

Perhaps it's appropriate, then, that I shot the moon a couple nights before Lughnasadh, marking the first harvest of the year. Those in tune with nature have likely sensed the waning daylight and the wind of change in the air, despite the summer heat and... if you live anywhere near where I do, the stagnant humidity that envelops you the moment you walk out the door.

But change, it really is a-comin'! And with Sagittarius right on its heels, that change is likely to push some boundaries and force us to fly higher than we have before. Though the season really is slowing down, there's a sense of urgency in the atmosphere, an optimism and a fire that pushes for action.

I like to think of this particular Lughnasadh, considering it coincides with a blue moon (a phenomenon that occurs every 2.5 years or so), as a time to chase after dreams and make them bigger than I ever thought possible, even if the end result is hidden from view. By taking my first step into a new career, and as I settle in and create a niche for myself in my new role and really engage with my new work family, it feels like the fire has been ignited, burning more brightly than it ever has before.

Tomorrow marks the opening of a window of opportunity and the time for taking leaps of faith just as we reap the benefits of what was sown in spring. To that end, The Fool comes into play with vigor this sabbat, bringing his gifts of risk-taking, purity, and potential.

I'm not a particularly controlling or Type A person; many people would tell me I'm actually quite terrible when I try feigning anything of the sort. The Fool still makes me a bit uncomfortable, though, with his laissez-faire attitude, blissful ignorance, and sense of wonder even in the face of danger (I mean, the guy is right on a precipice; no way would I consider doing that). What a fool, indeed; doesn't he realize there are rules, one of which is "don't stand at the edge of a cliff, lest you hurl yourself over it?"

(Yes. I made that up. It's one of my rules, though.)

I mean, seriously, look at this flighty bastard.

But I admit, I'm jealous of him, too. Without a care in the world, a single shit to give... he lives for the day, whatever it brings. I find that, while I certainly hold the same attitude to a degree, I prefer to hang back, sometimes simply enjoying the scene unfolding instead of actively participating in it.

This blue moon Lughnasadh is the perfect opportunity to step outside that comfort zone, be thankful for what you've achieved, and almost step directly in the fire to experience its warmth and, yes, maybe even some heat, potentially to the point of getting burned. "You only live once," after all, so make it a damn good one. Grasp your carnelian, anoint yourself with sandalwood, enjoy the gathering  of and feasting on apples and grains and berries*, and embolden yourself by taking a fucking chance on something. Anything!

The Earth is winding down, thankfully taking its sweet time to usher out summer for a much colder period. As this happens, I plan on taking a life lesson from The Fool and light that flame within me, in the hopes it preserves me and to keeps my belly full of delicious, salacious fiery passion.

I hope, this beautiful turn of the year, you find your heat, too.

A photo posted by Stephanie Fox (@letitproducejoy) on Jul 26, 2015 at 2:15pm PDT

*Did I mention, I made this beautiful pie this past week? Twice, even! Keeping the fire in the belly and the heat in the kitchen, clearly. Recipe below. :)

Mixed Berry Pie with Homemade Pie Crust

Ingredients

Crust:
2.5 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 tsp salt
1 cup cold butter, cubed
6 to 8 Tbsp ice water

Filling:
1 cup sugar
1/4 cup cornstarch
dash salt
1/3 cup water
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1 cup fresh blueberries
1 cup fresh raspberries
1 cup halved fresh strawberries
3/4 cup blackberries
1 Tbsp lemon juice
2 Tbsp butter, melted

Method

In a large bowl, mix flour and salt. Cut in butter until crumbly. Gradually add ice water, tossing with a fork until dough holds together when pressed. Divide dough into two portions so one is slightly larger than the other. Shape each into a disk, wrap in plastic wrap, and refrigerate for an hour or overnight.

For filling, in a large saucepan, whisk sugar, cornstarch, salt, water, and cinnamon until smooth; add blueberries. Bring to a boil, and cook and stir two minutes or until thickened. Cool slightly.

Preheat oven to 400°. Gently fold raspberries, strawberries, and blackberries into blueberry mixture. Add lemon juice and mix until well combined.

On a lightly floured surface, roll out the larger portion of dough into a circle 1/8" thick. Transfer to a nine-inch pie plate. Add filling.

Roll remaining dough into a circle 1/8" thick, then cut into 1/2"-wide strips. (I used a pizza cutter!) Arrange over filling in a lattice pattern; trim strips and bottom pastry to 1/2" past the pie plate, then seal strips with bottom pastry and flute edge. Brush top of pie with melted butter. Bake for 10 minutes.

Reduce oven to 350° and continue to bake for 45-50 minutes or until crust is golden brown and filling is bubbly. Cool on a wire rack.

When "unforgettable" is the least I could say.

"Remember my 30 Before 30 list, and how one thing on there was that I wanted to become an editor? Well... I was recently afforded the opportunity to do just that."

My words dropped like bombs around Awesome Attorney Boss, creating such commotion that the room was left eerily silent for the following few moments. Then, apparently having snapped out of it, he responded: "... oh...!"

I knew that wasn't the news he was expecting. Hell, as I said it, I swear someone else was moving my lips, that a disembodied voice not my own just delivered my two weeks' notice.

The time passed all too suddenly, and before I knew it, today has come... my last day working at Pandora.

I write that out with bittersweet emotion and searing hot tears welling up in my eyes. That same force that gave my notice ten days ago now moves my fingers for this post, further deepening the rift between my brain (which knows and understands what I did and what I said) and my heart (which harbors such astounding regret that it rivals my excitement for the future).

I told my husband tonight that I never thought I'd feel this way about taking a step towards my dream. Doubt flooded my mind the moment I sent my new employer my signed acceptance letter: What if I hate it? What if, after all the time spent in the legal field -- and getting pretty damn good at it -- I end up feeling nothing but remorse?

It's pretty scary to, dare I say, come to love what you do, who you work for, and where you are, only to leave it in pursuit of something you've been wanting your entire life, not knowing whether you've made the right choice. I've wanted to be an editor since I first put pen to paper, and everything I did through college was with that goal in the forefront.

Then, you know... life goes on. Your dreams become wishful thinking, there are bills to pay, and soon you find yourself re-enrolling in school not because you want to, but because you have to.

Shortly after receiving my bachelor's degree in Creative Writing, I was pushed by necessity to go back and get something "reasonable". I graduated shortly afterward with my Legal Studies associate's, and I've worked in the legal field ever since. While it's certainly had its moments, I've learned to really enjoy the practice of law (and, perhaps more importantly, being behind the scenes through it all).

I didn't discover love for it, though, until I started at Pandora. Talk about an opportunity! The corporate world for legal assistants is literally the crème de la crème, the type of job lusted over by anyone in my position. And to top it all off, of all the attorneys for whom I've ever worked, this one... well, he quickly earned and kept my pet nickname throughout social media as "Awesome Attorney Boss".

I was in heaven.

Of course, the job wasn't all sunshine and roses, but I'd come to find happiness and fun in practically every task thrown my way, even if a life raft would have proven helpful where my experience was lacking (and believe me, there was a lot of laughter -- by me, at myself -- when I threatened to drown). I learned an incredible amount, becoming at least adept at some things and an expert at others, and I found sincere joy in helping my boss and my coworkers with anything they needed.

So the decision to leave, after 3.5 years of time spent creating lasting bonds both professional and personal, was... simply put, not at all easy. I quite literally shook in my boots and floundered for over an hour before finally mustering up the courage to resign.

And when today came, when I would start my morning a Pandora employee and walk out with my badge deactivated, after having been the guest of honor at an incredibly moving and joyous farewell celebration with some of my closest friends at Pandora (seriously, I have -- yes, have, and I will never lose that! -- the best work family ever)... you bet your ass I cried. Maybe more than twice.

... probably again in the car.

... and possibly even now, all over again.

Tuesday starts a brand new career, and while I know it will fulfill me in ways I never knew were possible, I know that the experiences I had with my Pandora family were incredibly special and unique, and that they will follow me for the rest of my life. For that, I could never come up with the words appropriate to express just how grateful, honored, and truly blessed I was (and am!) to have had the opportunity.

So thank you, Awesome Attorney Boss, from the bottom of my heart. Thank you, my PALS and partners in crime. And finally, thank you to everyone else who truly made Pandora... unforgettable.

The Similac Ad: A perspective from a combo-feeder and relactator

If you've been anywhere around the internet recently, you're likely familiar with the new ad by Similac asking for an end to the ubiquitous Mommy Wars, saying that we're parents first. If you haven't seen it, watch it below... it's seriously sweet.


(I just realized I've already shared this, but it's worth the watch!)

Full disclosure, if you're not aware of any of this already: I'm a former-breastfeeding, former-formula-feeding, babywearing, stroller-owning (and occasionally -using), full-time corporate, crunchy hippie mom who encouraged baby-led weaning and is teaching her son yoga. Because he's far more flexible and far better at it than I am!

Having had all these experiences, this ad warmed my heart. Sure, it starts off getting your blood boiling, but by the end, you're just glad that everyone is enjoying the babies they have, no matter how they're being raised.

The firestorm as a result has been just as ubiquitous as the ad, and while a number of different types of moms are portrayed, the buzz hasn't come from the SAHMs or the WOHMs, not from the baby-wearers or the stroller-pushers, not even from the dads. Well, mostly.

Instead, it's come from the moms who feed their babies. Which... sounds silly, really.

I like to think I have an interesting vantage point in that I've both formula- and breast-fed my son, in private and in public, every time without shame. I was confident in my choice (when it came to formula, after a bit of time), and I tried to exude that whenever I had to feed my son and regardless of who was with us.

Perhaps that's the reason why, when I breastfed my son, I never had an issue with feeding him in public. Maybe I gave off enough confidence where I never heard "cover up" or "that's disgusting" or "can you please do that in the bathroom?" or any other asinine things my other breastfeeding friends have had to endure.

I promise you that, for the short time Tycho was on formula, I was equally confident. That confidence was shaken, though, when I had to feed him in Target on a relatively quiet afternoon. We cozied up in a display chair, I shook up his bottle, and he happily ate away.

Then, as she walked past me, a woman muttered under her breath, "Feeding that baby poison." Her glare pierced through me almost as painfully as her words.

I sat there, stunned, unable to say anything. Tycho continued to eat, oblivious to the hot tears that were brimming up, and I wished for something, anything to come to mind as a retort. But she turned the corner and was gone, leaving only her judgment behind.

I formula-fed Tycho for three months out of his life before I attempted relactation, and breastfed him otherwise until he was 21 months. Almost *seven times* longer as a breastfeeder, and in not a single day of that time was I ever meant to feel as worthless as I did in that moment, a moment that recreated itself several times over in such a short period.

I lost friends when I formula-fed.

I kinda-sorta gained them back when I relactated.

Some, I never got back at all.

I lost confidence when I formula-fed.

I lost confidence as a mother.

And not because of me.

But because of others.

As I read judgmental article after article from women who have never before formula-fed in their lives, and the comments from mothers who have never been there or done that, I couldn't help but feel that worthless all over again. It's one thing to think, perhaps rightfully, that Similac is capitalizing on these Mommy Wars by using an advertisement to bolster their sales (and I get it, I work for a company that capitalizes on a similar kind of marketing, replacing "mommy wars" with "charmed memories").

It's another thing entirely to contend that breastfeeding is a public health issue, that these "mommy wars" wouldn't exist if it wasn't for those meddling formula companies "pushing" their product, that breastfeeding shouldn't be a choice.

There is a sincere need for formula, from the baby in the NICU to the mom who is taking contraindicated medication, from the mom who adopted to the baby with an intolerance to his mom's milk no matter what she does.

And there's a want, too, that is just as valid as the need for formula, a want that's not easily (or willingly) deterred by the existence of donor milk.

I've experienced it myself. The differences between "want" and "need" play no role in the judgment formula-feeders receive from media, their pediatricians or physicians, the ads they see, the memes they read, and from individuals.

All well-meaning entities, I'm sure, but that are quick to slap "breast is best!" on a can of formula, like some mothers even have the stamina to care after all they went through to make their decision or who have had the decision made for them.

All well-meaning people, I'm sure, but who are quick to say that formula-feeding leads to an array of health or mental issues (untrue) and how dare you put convenience before your own child!

*takes a deep breath*

The "worst" I can see coming from this ad is that mothers who are already formula-feeding would switch to Similac. Me? I was totally happy with our Earth's Best organic soy, and would use it again should we ever have the need. And seriously, I relactated... not because I was gung-ho against formula, but because I wanted to. So clearly, their marketing wouldn't work on me!

The best... would be if breastfeeding moms took the ad to heart and for once considered that formula-feeding is every bit a valid decision to make, just as the choice to breastfeed is. Insisting that breastfeeding is the one "true" way to feed a child is not only myopic, it's divisive and a form of bullying. If you want a "mommy war", you've got one just by insisting on that.

In the meantime, I refuse to wave the white flag (though I can see why Suzanne Barston did, albeit begrudgingly!). I will forever be in support of a mother's right to choose what feeding method works best for her and her baby, and urge you to do the very same.

(Now vaccination, that's another story... for another time. ;))

Find out more about the Sisterhood of Motherhood!

Twitter: #SisterhoodofMotherhood (and be sure to follow me, @letitproducejoy!)

Facebook: #SisterhoodofMotherhood (also, wanna be FB friends, too?)

We are parents first.

Thank you again, Facebook friends, for sharing yet another fun video about the truths of parenthood:


I've been on both the sending and receiving side of judgment for parenting, and I have to say that neither side is a good place to be. So I'm joining a new campaign, the #SisterhoodofMotherhood, to encourage other parents to come together and focus not on those things that separate us, but those things that bring us together. Like, you know... making sure our kids are happy and healthy!

This video, titled "The Mother 'Hood", boiled my blood for the first couple minutes as parents -- mothers and father alike -- ridiculed the other side for their own parenting practices. Ugh, to watch them go for the jugular in decisions that had nothing to do with them! My anger was quickly joined by shame, as I know that, whether or not I've voiced my opinions aloud, I've certainly had opinions myself.

Not cool, Steph. Not cool.

Then the end of the video comes and, in a moment of peril, a reminder that we're all in it for our kids comes right to the forefront. Because in the end, that's what it's all about: Our love for our children. :)

So with that, I encourage y'all to join this effort as well, and to honor, respect, and even love other parents (and yourself!) not for how they care for their kids, but for the fact that they do care for their kids. I promise, I will absolutely do the same for you. ♥

Twitter: #SisterhoodofMotherhood (and be sure to follow me, @letitproducejoy!)
Facebook: #SisterhoodofMotherhood (also, wanna be FB friends, too?)

And he nursed for the last time.

It wasn't anything I or my husband pushed, this slow and steady weaning process. Breastfeeding just fell off the radar, with one session dropped, another forgotten. Finally, last Wednesday, Tycho nursed for the last time.

He turns 21 months today, the little stinker! He's running, talking (sometimes incessantly), giggling, constantly learning. Each day, he grows more and more, both physically and mentally. It's amazing to watch someone you made and raised turn into his own individual person, and I'm literally lost for words to describe the feeling.

Last Wednesday, at an unacceptable 5:45am, Tycho nursed for the last time. He had woken up asking for Dada, and when Dada relented, Tycho was brought to me in our bed for nursing (and, admittedly, some quiet time before our alarm clock went off at 6:30).

We had been down to morning nursing alone for a long time at that point -- I'd say, the past two months. He weaned his night-nursing at that time, and we instead changed the routine to include snuggles on the couch, reading a few books in bed, and kissing his sweet face as he sank into his pillow. That itself was bittersweet, so for the following months, I held onto that last shred of babyhood.

Having relactated when Tycho was just a few months old, I'm filled with pride to say that I nursed him this long. It was truly a miraculous and marvelous thing to nourish him in the beginning and to continue offering comfort as he grew older; there was literally nothing that nursing couldn't fix. I knew it would end, but I didn't realize just how emotional I'd be after the fact, or just how determinedly white-knuckled I'd be as it attempted to slip through my fingers.

But six mornings have passed now since Tycho has even mentioned his nenes, and while I in no way encouraged him to continue when he was clearly done, I'm left pining for 5:45 mornings, kissing his hair, and snuggling him that much closer as we lay in bed.

Babies, man... they really don't keep.

There's so much awaiting me as a mother, though, and while it's hard to accept, moving into this next stage and knowing that it just gets better from here brings me so much joy that I can't contain it all. I swell with so much pride every day for my son that, in the end, I'm happy to leave the baby stage in the dust!

Yes, I remain wistful, even a bit sad. I liken it to mourning. But this is just the start of a new, exciting path of independence, engaging conversations (even constant questions and back-talking!), teaching him to ride a bike, learning grade school science all over again, watching him hit a grand slam, and everything else that comes with... well, growing up.

Tycho's clearly ready for it, so I'm taking his lead... and eagerly forging on into this next phase of motherhood. ♥