In spite of my bold post yesterday, I cried on the way to the airport. I’ve never left Anna before. As we drove away I knew I was leaving more than Anna behind.  You see . . . well . . . I am now going to confide something that you might not understand unless you’re from Berkley or live in, say, Guatemala. Anna, who is almost two, is still nursing. And not just at night. My cousin, a lactation nurse, tells me it is nothing to hide or worry about. “Everywhere else in the world babies nurse until they’re four.” My husband’s take on that used to be his little joke: when the baby can ask for it, it’s time to stop. It’s not a joke anymore. It didn’t take too long to figure out that “Neese! Neese!” meant time to nurse. Again. And despite what my cousin says, it is a little bit embarrassing to bring Anna into the mother’s room with all the newborns. Sometimes she’ll gargle the milk and blow a few bubbles as her little joke. Other times she finishes with a mighty “ahhh” like the little boy does when he’s finished with his glass of milk and Oreos on that commercial.

But I’m not complaining. I like nursing her. More than like it, I love it. I’m one of those moms who put the big “Nursing Baby Only” sign up in the newborn hospital crib. My freezer has little zip locks of precious pumped milk so that my babies won’t starve while I’m away getting my haircut or something. In the newborn beginnings, I admit it’s tough to keep going. But eventually, we fall into a feeding rhythm that’s simple and even joyful.

Now I find myself on the other end. When I’ve explained my dilemma to my husband he is understandably clueless. He does his best to run interference between me and Anna on the weekends. Yet on Monday mornings when Anna greets me with, “Neese! Please neese!” I don’t have the heart to tell her no.

But last week after a marathon morning nursing, she started begging again while I was trying to do the breakfast dishes. It was not a joyful moment. “No Anna,” I said firmly. “It’s all gone.” Quite sure that I was wrong about that, she starting throwing one of her new full-blown, two-year-old tantrums. Like any good mom would, I locked myself in the bathroom. I needed a minute to think. And all my thoughts pointed one way—it’s time to stop. I need to wean myself as much as Anna does.

The morning I left on this trip, she woke up too early. Sometimes as a mom you do something for the last time and don’t know it. I’m sure there was a last time Lauren sat on my lap for a story. There had to be a last time Elise needed help tying her shoes. I just didn’t know about it. But as I nursed Anna back to sleep in the early morning darkness, I knew. At least I think I did. And I tried to hold the moment tight for just a second longer before rushing off to finish packing. Though you’ll never remember this, there was a time when I could do something for you that no one else could. And we both liked it very much.