A Lamentation for Lactation (Or..."An Ovation for Ovulation")

In preparation for my return to full-time work next week (knowing that I would rather kiss the president than pump milk), I have gradually cut out Josie's mid-day nursings. She is a great fan of all things edible, drinks milk like a teenager, and takes a bottle of formula without an instant's hesitation, so I am not worried about her. She doesn't need me (in that way) any more. My hope was to continue with the early morning and bedtime feedings, as an opportunity for us to spend quiet time together in the midst of a busy routine. So far those have continued (as have the middle of the night feedings, unfortunately, since we are roommates on vacation), but with diminishing interest on her part. My boobs seem rather impartial as well. I know that it is only a matter of days until my role as refrigerator is done and Josie is weened. I remember that with Jasper it happened rather suddenly. One day I was nursing, the next I wasn't. I also remember the immediate increase in energy, the revived interest in sex (hence Josie), and the feeling that I could actually go to a yoga class without making anyone too anxious. So weening is not a bad thing. And yet I drag my heels, already nostalgic for those quiet, tender moments of bliss that will be replaced by rushed guzzling from a bottle in between bath and bed. To top it off, this week I received the pesky Monthly Visitor for the first time in 19 months. I was caught entirely off guard, presuming at first that I had suffered some bizarre injury on the water trampoline. Then I was thrilled. Wow, I can still DO that. So I return to messy nuisances every 28 days, but also to the lunar cycle that somehow connects me to all things living, both realized and potential. (It's that potential we hope to not realize from here on out.)