And then, just like that...

This was right after Laura was born. (Obviously. I don't have any handy little carts on wheels like the one in the picture, although one would definitely come in handy here at home.) Shortly after this, she snuggled up to me, latched on, and ate like she'd been doing it forever. She was so good at it that I think she must've had dreams about it in the womb, which in turn allowed her to visualize what breastfeeding would one day be like.

The day after we brought her home, her enthusiasm hadn't dampened. Mine had, a little bit. If you look at the picture closely, you'll notice that there's milk on her chin and she's in a milk coma. You'll also notice, if you look closely, that there's blood on the tab of her sleeper, right under the snap. I'll let you connect the dots. It wasn't pretty.

But things settled down and there was no more bleeding. There was thrush, and lots of it. We got through that and got into a nice little routine. She loved her nursing sessions, making them as long as possible, languishing in the snuggling and my (mostly) undivided attention.

We went to the river and I fed her on the screened-in porch. We watched it turn daylight out there each morning we were there.

A few months later, Will started school and Laura's 6 am wakeup time came in handy, as her leisurely meals and getting everyone ready and out the door took up a good bit of our mornings. I thought we'd never see the day that she slept past six.

She started solids and did fairly well with them but her "baby milk" was still her main form of nourishment (and comfort).

We went to the river (again) and had more cousin time.

We were up before the sun Thanksgiving morning in WV. I took this while she was nursing. She stopped for a second and looked at me like I was crazy to walk both of us out in the cold. I think it was worth it, though.

The entire video of Will opening his Christmas presents after Santa visited shows shots of Laura doing her favorite thing, breastfeeding. But she'd also added puffs to her repertoire by this point.

Winter marched right along. We got some snow. You could find us on our cozy little couch for our morning meal every morning at six (or sometimes before).

Somewhere in there, Miss Fancy Pants decided she'd like to start sitting up.

She and her brother started to become friends.

And this was still her most favorite time of day.

She had a big birthday but still wouldn't touch a sippy cup. I had reached my own personal goal:  no formula.

She started pulling up.

I watched sunrises at the beach while she nursed.

Miraculously, she decided that a sippy cup of milk wasn't so bad after all sometime shortly after we got home from the beach.

Very slowly, she started replacing some baby milk with milk milk. Then we were down to two nursing sessions: first thing in the morning and last thing at night. She dropped the morning feeding about a month ago but continued with the before bed session.

She's been stuffy for the last few days and was sporadically not wanting to nurse before bed. The last two nights, she's refused. The day the picture in the sink was taken was likely the last time she really nursed. Probably forever. But it was a good one. I even let her go to sleep, which I normally don't do. Maybe deep down I knew that it was coming.

I didn't set out to breastfeed for 17 months (the first 15 of which were a no-bottle-no-sippy-cup-only-straight-from-the-source-zone). I wanted to make it 12. I think it was worth it, though.

I did it to make up for the less-than-stellar experience I had with Will. I did it because I loved snuggling up with her. I did it because she was so easy to breastfeed. She loved it from the get-go. I did it because I loved it. I did it because she was (is!) my baby and it was the most natural, intuitive thing I've ever done. I did it because I want her, someday, as a woman, to see that breastfeeding is such a privilege, that this time with her is one of the sweetest times I have ever had.

I did it because, thirty or so years from now, when a newborn baby latches on to her, she'll think, "Oh. I get it now. So this is how Mom felt about me. But she couldn't possibly have loved me like this."

And she'll be wrong. I loved her more (bleeding nipples and all).