Dear Evie,

I knew this was it.

I've said it before--at least half-a-dozen times in the last few weeks. But I knew that tonight, I meant it. Tonight was the last time I would ever nurse any of my babies. I thought it would be traumatic for me--a bawling mess with my tears wetting your cheeks. Instead, it was a tender, sweet moment that I hope never to forget.

I changed you into your soft fleece jammies, brushed your twelve teeth, then whisked you off to my room.

You knew what was up as soon as I headed toward our chair--that singular fuss/whine/cry that meant, "I know what's coming. Hurry, Mommy." I sat down, lifted my shirt, and nestled you to my breast. First the right, then the left, just like always. You gently began to nurse, wide-eyed and comfortable. This was a place you'd been every day of your life. A safe place. A happy place. Our place.

I watched you. Your big blue eyes. Your long dark eyelashes. Your wispy blond hair. And I remembered. I remembered one of the first times we were alone in this chair, my body nourishing yours. You were so small and smelled so sweet and needed me for everything. Now, you're so big and occasionally smell stinky and need me for less.

Tonight, you wanted to play the game we've played for months. It started with your tiny fingers stretching for my face, hoping to reach me. It slowly progressed to grasping my chin, then ended when your fingers could reach my mouth. At first I tried to redirect your little fingers to my cheek or hand. But you wanted to have your fingers kissed and playfully bitten. Of course I obliged. How could I resist?

After a few minutes, you latched off, captured my gaze and began babbling, looking into my eyes and heart, trying to communicate your baby thoughts. Were you thinking how much you'll miss this time with me? Of course not. You'll never remember what these moments meant to me--to us both--but I will.

We stayed close like that, exchanging small talk for a little while longer, but then you could hear your brothers wrestling in the other room. You extricated yourself from my final cuddle, lowered yourself to the floor, then turned and reached for my hand.

I slowly walked with you down the hall, forever leaving behind that infant that I swaddled and inhaled and cuddled and adored.

We stopped by the boys' room. Hyrum held your other hand and the three of us continued down the hall, a little train of happiness, sounding of laughter and smelling of toothpaste.

I found your pacy and your silky blanket, kissed your sweet face, tucked you into bed, and turned off the light.

Just remember this:

"As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be."

Love,
Mom