I cried.

My life was flipped upside down. And by life, I really mean body. My body wasn't my own anymore. My stomach had been stretched out in order to fit an almost ten pound baby. In the last few days before Wells was born, stretch marks appeared out of nowhere. No some little stretch marks. I mean I have sever inches around my belly button of horrible, dreadful, tear inducing, no bikini ever again kind of stretch marks. My boobs inflated with milk and he was attached to me around the clock.

Wells made me a mom.
The first few months, it took some getting use to. And, I took to it. I actually fell in love with being a mom. All the sacrifice and all the change was completely okay. Better than okay, it was worth it.

Wells and I have such a sweet relationship.

Last year, I woke up and cried.

And, cried.

I woke up and knew it would be the last time I would breastfeed him ever! Eighteen months and ten days old seemed like it went by too fast.

At the breastfeeding class Ted and I took while I was pregnant for Wells, we were asked how long we planned to breastfeed. I was the lady in the room ever bugged out over. I answered confidently between 2 and 3 years.

As most things in parenting go, we have this preconceived ideas of what we will do, say, teach, and be. When I became pregnant for Poppy, I knew at some point I would wean Wells before having her. After feeding and co-sleeping around the clock, I knew I could manage two kids. It was right for us to wean earlier than I had hoped.

You can read about my weaning process here. I will always remember breastfeeding Wells and how sweet that time was for us. It was a treasure.

Today, I cried again.

I cried as I was breastfeeding Poppy and tickling Wells's back before naps. Being a mom is the coolest thing ever.