Sarah Anne I Am

5:59am   I wake up and look at the clock. WHY. WHY AM I AWAKE? This is ridiculous. Whatever. I go to the bathroom, because I'm pregnant, so odds are I need to. During the forty-five seconds that takes, Judah starts crying. Touche, internal mama alarm clock, touche. I DO need to be awake.   Judah is a snotty, congested, crying mess. Fortunately, The Solution To All Things (his pacifier) is relatively easy to find in his crib. I mentally take his temperature- is he too cold? He might be too cold. I carry him to our bed, where Arthur is asleep, blissfully unaware that our firstborn might be a little bit too cold. I tuck the comforter around Judah and hand him his water cup. The next four minutes consist of Judah eating two-thirds of a banana, drinking some water, and going back to bed. I eat one bite of granola bar and go back to bed as well. 9:03am   I wake up and look at the clock. Praise Jesus. I listen- Judah is not crying. Judah is not talking, bouncing, or banging on

  A week ago Judah nursed for the last time, and the ensuing wave of hormones that has engulfed me as my body rapidly shifts gears has been a bit overwhelming. But amongst the many emotions, one has stood out above all the others: Gratitude.   I am so incredibly thankful to have been able to nurse my son for fourteen months, especially considering that I was pregnant for the last four months. It has been a greater blessing than I anticipated to have to opportunity to feed my child so naturally. And as thankful as I am for this experience, not every step has been easy.   Judah was born knowing how to nurse. He was an expert right away. Unavoidable pain of learning to nurse aside, I am exceptionally fortunate to have a child who never struggled with his latch, never needed to be coaxed to eat. We had the opposite problem: He was ravenous. Like, CRAZY ravenous, all the time.   For the first few days of his life he nursed every two or three hours like a good little newborn, and jus