I couldn't resist this one.  When Eric was maybe 4ish, I started putting
on the brakes.  But one day, as we floated idly in our pond, he said, "You
know, Mommy, sometimes I like to think about my favorite things.  Like
ducks.  And nursing.  But sometimes when I think about my favorite things,
then I don't have them anymore."

"Oh, Eric," I said, "Is nursing that important to you?"

(Sad voice.)  "Yes."

"Well, as long as it's important to you, you shall have it."

"Even when I'm 13?"

(I can't help laughing.)  "I don't think you'll want to then, but yes,
even when you're 13."  With that pact, I thought for sure he'd nurse that
night.  He didn't, but continued his pattern of every... so... often.

I have no idea when he stopped completely, but at age 8 he snuggled into a
nursing position and reeeely wanted to nurse.  I stalled, wondering what
happens when an American 2nd grader, heavily into Ninjas and bathroom
humor, starts nursing again.  Thankfully, he got distracted and the moment
passed.

The next morning, he had the chicken pox.

He's 13 now, and hasn't asked since.  But I sometimes wonder if someday a
bearded bank president will slump in my door and say to this withered old
lady, "Mom?  I've had a reeeely hard day..."

Diane Wiessinger, MS, IBCLC, LLLL, private practice, Ithaca, NY