She gave me a gift. One last nurse.

My first child, Pidge, loved nursing. She wanted to nurse at every possible moment, and she never wanted to stop. Pidge nursed from both her Mama and me, so there was always plenty of milk. Weaning was a production. We were ready to stop, but we wanted to respect Pidge. Her last nurse was on the day of her third birthday.

Piper was different. She was born with a significant lip and tongue tie, and nursing was a challenge. Until she was six months old, she preferred expressed milk fed to her from a bottle. Then she returned to nursing. I was overjoyed. I was also busy and overwhelmed. Having a 3-year-old and a baby during a pandemic is hard. But Piper kept nursing.

Until one day, she didn’t.

I woke up one morning and realized that I couldn’t remember the last time Piper nursed. On the one hand, I was thankful for the reprieve and also thankful to avoid a difficult weaning. On the other hand, I was heartbroken. How could it be over? How could I have missed it? How is my baby not a baby anymore? I tried to focus on the positives and move on.

Then, about two weeks later, she gave me one final, beautiful moment. We were walking down the boardwalk after a delightful summer day on the beach. We were tired, but sun kissed and happy. I looked down at Piper. She smiled. She put her pudgy little fist in the air and opened and closed her fingers. The sign for milk. Tears welled up in my eyes. Thank you, Piper. Thank you. We sat on the bench together, gazing into each other’s eyes, nursing and cherishing our closeness.