Petra’s still working on being big enough to stop the booby. (God knows how breastfeeding ended up being called booby, but it did. Petra charges out of the bathroom after her pre-bed bath yelling, “I want a booby! I want a booby!” And that’s what she gets.) She toyed with not having her night-time feed a couple of nights ago, but decided that she wasn’t so big that she had to quit just yet. Last night, she was too big. She had a drink and a snack and went to bed without asking for a breastfeed.
She’s quietly planning an insurrection and in order for her to be big enough to get the independence she wants she feels that she has to stop breastfeeding. She told me yesterday that she was too big for booby and too big to hold my hand anymore. My response was two-fold as I tried to cover all the bases and not talk myself into any corners – discussions with pre-schoolers require the kind of diplomatic niceties the rest of the world reserves for preventing wars in far-flung places. I explained that mostly people stop breastfeeding before they stop holding hand with their parents. And that she was welcome not to hold my hand on the footpath or at the park or anywhere without cars really, but that we had to hold hands to cross the street or walk through a car park. Petra was unconvinced. So I brought the big guns to bear, telling her that Miss Olivia still has to hold hands with her mother when they cross the road. This ended the discussion.
But Petra obviously went away and thought about it and decided that no breastfeeding is the first step to being a big girl.