And today, the full, bright moon shining like a flat disc on a surprisingly mild winter’s night in Toronto, my baby appears to be weaned. With no fuss or tears, only needing my hand on her to help her drift off to sleep, this long goodbye seems in retrospect to’ve been one of my better decisions.
2 years and 8 months. Tonight I feel thrilled, set free, heartbroken, slightly panicked. That unique bond is no more. 🙁
She on the other hand is snoring ever so gently on my pillow. Ah, what a journey.