Plans Change

From about the time JiggleyBaby was about 6 months old, I started to dream of the day he turned one and was no longer almost always attached to my boob. Breastfeeding him hasn't always been the most enjoyable experience; he was a sleepy 36 weeker who needed to be reminded to eat, he was tongue tied which resulted in a painful latch, which in return resulted in me having vasospasms anytime he got the least bit lazy with his latch. I've had blisters and sores, and many many many nights of nursing practically around the clock. But through the pain and the sleep deprivation fog, I knew that breast was best for my little man. I knew that as tough as it was, I was able to provide him with something absolutely no one else could, so I'd stick it out... for the year.
I had big plans for the little man's first birthday. Cake smash, balloons, finger painting birthday party... and to wean him off the breast and onto whole milk. I wanted to have my body back, I wanted cute bras without trap doors. I wanted to plan an outfit for the way it looks or the way it makes me feel... not for the ease in which I could discreetly pop out a boob. I wanted to diet - My body holds onto extra jiggle when I breastfeed. I wanted my breasts to be sexy again. I wanted to get my groove back... my husband wants me to get my groove back - my sex drive slows down a LOT while I'm breastfeeding. I just wanted to be the one in control of my body again.
Well, weeks after JiggleBaby's first birthday; is he still nursing? Yep. Has he weaned at all? Nope. He still nurses 4-5 times during the day and 3-4 times a night. Do I hate it? No, not usually. Do I love it? Nope, not all the time.
I've confused myself, and probably anyone who I've talked to about it in the last couple of months. I want to wean, but I don't. I'm not completely happy or content with our breastfeeding relationship, yet I continue. I feel shackled to this small human, yet I don't try very hard to undo the 'shackles'. I want to be done, but I don't.
JiggleyBaby is our last (planned) baby. All of his firsts, are my last firsts. This is the last time that I will rock a warm squishy sleepy babe and nurse him to sleep. This is the last time that I will sit in a dark room and tuck and re-tuck that one piece of hair that sticks right out from the side of his head. This is the last time that I will be the only one that can calm him and put him back to sleep.
So I guess this means, for a little while longer, my body is still not completely mine. For a little while longer I will carry around the extra squish and bras with extra clasps. For a little while longer I will shackle myself to my sweet little boy, who only wants me for comfort. And I guess that's ok.