Before I had a child, if you had told me that I'd be working full-time and still manage to breastfeed not only to the year mark, but beyond, I would have thought you were crazy. Instead, here we are: Deacon is 21 months old and I'm still nursing at night. And I'm proud of this. He's been talking since he was 8 months old when he said his first word besides "mama" and "dada"; it was "bloo" (balloon) and I will always picture him saying it in the aisle at the Nugget Market as he looked up at a birthday balloon. He's only had one cold. And his favorite thing besides trucks: books! I'd go on record as being very pro-breastfeeding...I should be, for someone who had a very, VERY low pain tolerance, I suffered through eleven weeks of the worst pain and emotional trauma I've ever experienced to make breastfeeding a success. And although it's left scars (both literally and figuratively), it was worth it. Even though sometimes I wish I could have a cocktail with dinner instead of waiting until after his bedtime. And even though there are lots of other reasons why it's been a sacrifice (just one of many when you start having kids, right), it's still been worth it. Now, I do not plan to breastfeed indefinitely. (You will not see me on some Dateline special with my pre-teen hanging off my chest.) The official plan is to wean at two years (while I'm off work for Spring break), unless he weans himself first. And last night may have hinted towards this. He stopped nursing early and told me I was "quishy" and "limey" (squishy and slimy) and wouldn't nurse anymore. Clue number one that your child is ready for weaning: the gourmand requests a different (and impossible) texture.