We reached a milestone in our house on Friday. With my son I did an OK job as he was getting older marking milestones on the calendar. With my daughter, well, I couldn’t tell you when she first walked or talked or cut her first tooth. But I think she did them all the same day!

This milestone is a mommy milestone, and not one my daughter is all-too-happy about. Friday marked one month since I stopped nursing her. For those of you who are keeping tabs, or haven’t done the math, my daughter will be 3 in a few months.

I am, and still remain, a firm believer in nursing. And from Day 1, my daughter was a nursing girl. I think I can count on both hands the number of times she took a bottle. It wasn’t that I set out to do that, but at the time I took four months of maternity leave and even when I returned, it was only to be in the office one day a week (and that position ended after a month). She just never had any interest in a bottle.

I didn’t really push the issue with her until two weeks before I returned to work. And clearly, she would have NONE of it. The sitter, a good friend, who took her those four days I went to work, had a miserable time. We were able to get her to take some liquid, and watered down rice cereal, through a sippy cup. But forget a bottle.

And when I did return to work more regularly a few months later, I found nursing was a quiet, soothing, reconnect time for us. So again, I didn’t push the issue.

But as she reached 2 and a half years old, I kept it to just once or twice a day and only at home. And when she got sick – something that happens a lot in our house – she would want NO ONE but mommy. So it became clear that weaning was in order!

I didn’t plan this, but it worked out that my four days away from home to visit my sister last month was well worth the plane ticket – and not just to see my sis and niece.

We stopped cold turkey. The night before my departure, my daughter was in bed with me all night. And that was the last time.

I’m a very happy mommy, though the first few nights were tough with her pleading me to nurse. Now, it’s been a whole week since she asked.

So when my sister had her daughter, I was the first to say, “Give that child a bottle at least once a day!” (filled with mommy milk, of course.)

I’ve been in a purge mode at my house. I’m donating items by the truckload it seems: clothes, dishes, toys. Call it early spring cleaning. It started with my sister having a baby: I had plenty of young clothes with more months of use in them, so I packed them up. Then I moved onto the toys and my own clothes. 

 But yesterday I was stopped in my tracks. I pulled down two bins of clothing from my closet to find my old maternity clothes. I dumped them onto the floor and then put them in plastic bags. But rather than load them into the trunk with the rest of the stuff, I hesitated. Am I really ready to discard them?

This is really a ridiculous argument in some ways: We have the all-American family: 2.5 kids (a boy, a girl and a dog), a house in the burbs, two good jobs and our kids in good schools. I’ll be 37 on my next birthday. My kids are out of diapers and for the first time in nearly six years, I have my body to myself: I’m not pregnant and I’m not nursing! That alone should answer the question. 

But it came up recently (actually, has it ever gone away?). My husband has always wanted a third child. I clearly remember the first time he mentioned it two years ago. That same week I was in the bathroom at 2 a.m. with one kid on each knee and both barfing into the toilet. ANOTHER BABY? Are you crazy? And while the throw up hasn’t stopped (this weekend was a fine example), my kids are more self-sufficient and don’t need mom and dad to be there all the time for them. 

I know the problem: I have two great kids, so why not try it again? Then again, why mess with a good thing? Both my kids have asked for a brother, wouldn’t you know it. Timing is a bit of a crutch: I actually found myself doing calculations last night. We’ve booked a cruise for next August for our 10^th anniversary. And I don’t want to mess with that, nor do I really want a baby in tow. And when we thought I was pregnant recently, and found out I wasn’t, I was relieved and a little sad, at the same time. 

I don’t know how people come to a FINAL, FINAL decision on this. I have two cousins who each had one and are done. I have three cousins who have five kids – each. My other family members all fall somewhere in between. My friends are the same way. 

So perhaps in the next few months a decision – or in a few years, menopause – will catch up with me. In the meantime, I’ll keep hanging out with my friends’ babies. And that bag of maternity clothes? It’s sitting in the corner of my closet.