Even when it's going really well, really really well, which it is, it's still hard. For one thing, my hormones are messing with me. Every time I drop a nursing, my body has to recalibrate the hormones. I've been going through typical withdrawal—jittery, fearful, weepy, blue, and buggin'. I want it to end.

And then there's the stress and angst: Am I doing the right thing? Will he still love me? Should I sing Twinkle Twinkle or Irene Goodnight?

And of course, there's the fact that we are still in the middle of things. He now doesn't need to be nursed in the night, but we hear his little wake ups and lie awake worrying if we should get up. He goes down smoothly at bedtime, but not at naptime. I still feel strange with the bed now facing the window, my desk in our room, and him no longer by my side.