In mid-October breastfeeding my son Mylo came to an end. He was just over 14 months old.
I am one part relieved because I wasn’t eager to be breastfeeding a toddler, but also several parts sad. Never in my pre-baby life did I think I would breastfeed. And if I did, that I would come to enjoy it.
While I less-than-cared for the five months of spit up that came after each feeding, I thought it was awesome that I was the sole source of my son’s nourishment. Not to mention it was gratifying that at a moments freak out, my boob in his mouth had the ability to soothe him beyond belief. Our first game – blowing zerberts – began while breastfeeding. Thanks to the uber-understanding Brooklyn community in which I live, breastfeeding in public was something that I found empowering, and welcoming. I breastfed Mylo in movie theatres, in restaurants, in bars and tons of other public spaces. One time, I even breastfed Mylo who was having a meltdown in his stroller, on the steps of someone’s multi-million dollar Brooklyn Brownstone. It was 90 degrees out and I needed to sit.
Ah, sitting. One of the things I appreciated most about breastfeeding is that it made me sit. Other than sitting on an airplane which, let’s face it, doesn’t happen often these days, I never “just” sit. Giving him a bottle still requires sitting, but it’s not the same.
I am so proud and grateful that Mylo took this journey with me. (Even though I know it will make him squirm when he reads this post some day) 
Mylo was a lion for Halloween. Breastfeeding came to an end around this time.