Milestones

The day after my sister's wedding, Harper hit two milestones. She decided walking was indeed for her, and she stopped nursing. Watching a baby learn to walk is a reminder of what a difficult task this is, and we soon learn not only how to do it without thinking but how to do it backwards, sideways, on hills, over rocky ground, in the dark. Harper is small for her age (just above knee high to me) and resembles a walking doll. She is so pleased with her accomplishment and quite self entertained trying out this new trick around the house, end to end, holding a variety of toys and attempting drinking while standing. My arms are getting some relief as she would rather walk than be held. Asher enjoys the new sport of ten-ways-to-knock-down-Harper-(aka "Not My Sister" and "Can She Leave the Family?")-without-looking-like-I-knocked-her-down. An addict of movement since I was born, I am so proud of Harper and so pleased that she is walking, able to join us for our outside play, hunt for us around the house and even participate in our walks.

Asher weaned himself quite easily. He gave up feedings progressively without complaint and even a what's-the-big-deal-here-anyway? attitude. Harper was another story. The poor girl had to decrease her feedings down to three times a day quite suddenly in January when I went back to work. When she was down to two feedings, as I thought about dropping her after nap feeding, she would see our couch, the usual location of nursing, and go ballistic (screaming, back arching, head thrown back) until I sat down with her. Somehow, down to one feeding, everything worked out as she was distracted by the activity and family in town for my sister's wedding and, loving milk, took a full cup of milk over nursing. Hallelujah! As much as I love nursing - the sweet time with my baby, the attachment we form to each other, the personality revealed, the soothing that helps us survive starting daycare, traveling and plane rides, the amazing capacity of the female body to solely nourish a baby for six months - I have reached a major milestone I want to celebrate. After 3 1/2 years - 42 months and 11 days - of being pregnant or nursing without pause, I am now neither. My body is mine. I can spend the night away from the house and eat or drink whatever I want.

Quite nicely, as I was coming out of this haze and just realizing my freedom (you'd think it would be immediately evident, but being physically attached to a baby became normal), things conspired so that my friend, Amy, and I went for a hike in the Poudre Canyon. Sadly, having lived in Colorado almost three years and loving hiking, this was only my third hike since moving here. Arranging one was near impossible while pregnant and quite difficult with nursing. We drove up the canyon about 1 1/2 hours and hiked just over an hour along the Cache de Poudre River. The weather had been so wet that it almost felt like a hike in the northwest, damp ground, ferns, brilliant red mushrooms. It was beautiful and relaxing and a reminder of other things I can accomplish.

So many things to ponder from the hike - the joy of conversation with a close friend, the splendor of nature, the smell of dirt and decay and growth, a reminder of how people can do things right (not build, save beautiful land), realization again of how much God values beauty that He would even make mushrooms, in oft unseen places, beautiful.

On our way out of the Canyon, Amy said that she had seen people stop at a certain place near the outlet to swim in the river. She asked if I wanted to go. Absolutely. We found the place, pulled over and walked carefully down the small hill. The river was about the width of the road and varying in depths from toe deep to shoulder deep. The water - good, snow water - was quite cold. A family was swimming up river from us, and we could see a short distance down the river. I took off my shirt and waded in in my sports bra and shorts. So cold at first, my feet, then legs, got used to the cold. Amy waded in up to her neck and swam towards where the water went over a foot high waterfall. I plunged under, hyperventilating, and then faced downstream, submerged up to my neck. The river water flowed strong around me, and I felt like part of the river, my cold body numb, my mind relaxed from the hike. I wanted to stay in that spot, relaxing on a deep couch in the earth, part of of something hugely bigger than me that soothed and cooled, lifted me and whispered water secrets.