Little Miss Sunshine turned eleven months old last week, and so it seems the time for weaning has finally arrived. I’ve been looking forward to this for a while. There’s plenty about nursing that I am not going to miss.

I’m really not going to miss my nursing bras, which are stretched out and stained and faded and smelly and disgusting. I told Mrs. Carl Sagan that I was going to burn them when I was all done and she laughed, only I was not kidding.

I’m not going to miss the biting, the leaking, or the various infections. I’m not going to miss having to wear shirts that are two sizes too big for me, so I can hoist them up at a moment’s notice.

And although I guess I am a little sentimental about my baby growing up, I’m not sad about it or anything. We have lots of other ways to bond, like me dangling her upside down by her ankles, which is probably her favourite thing in the whole world. That and arrowroots.

But I’m surprised to find that there is one thing about nursing that I am going to miss, and that’s the quiet time.

Being a stay-at-home mom is a busy job, a physical job, and a loud job (because it isn’t enough to talk about BUTTS at a normal volume, the word MUST BE SHOUTED). All day long it’s go-go-go, making a meal while changing the load of laundry, doing a puzzle with one hand while working a puppet with the other, making sure the baby isn’t eating any sand while helping the other two climb the rock wall at the park. There’s precious little time to just sit and read a book, or daydream, or even admire the beauty of my children from across the room.

Until now, though, I’ve had a required five-minute down-time at least four or five times a day. I find a quiet activity for the older kids — watching a TV show, or playing a game together in a bedroom — and then I take Little Miss Sunshine up to her room.

The curtains are drawn and it’s dark and peaceful.

The chair is comfy and sometimes there’s gentle rocking.

The Little Miss doesn’t like it when I talk or sing while she’s nursing so it’s silent and calm.

(Assuming relations between the other two have not devolved into a shoving match.)

I lay my head back and close my eyes. I take deep breaths and relax.

And there, with my feet up, in the quiet, I recharge. I get five minutes to just daydream, or to do a little writing in my head, or to just admire the beauty of my littlest girl.

I find it really hard to remember to take a few moments in my day to rest. There’s always someone who needs something and it’s hard to say no, that Mommy just needs to sit down. Instead I tend to push myself and try to do everything and be everything to everyone until I snap. Then I find myself yelling at the kids for a relatively small infraction and someone is crying and suddenly I’ve become Bad Mommy.

I’ve already dropped one nursing, so now we’re down to just three or sometimes four of these little oases of calm per day. I’ve already noticed the loss; I miss my quiet time.

I must make a new resolution to replace nursing time with something similar. Maybe we’ll start a family yoga minute or maybe I’ll just take extra long putting the Little Miss down for her naps, snuggling up with a second book instead of taking a milk break.

Because quiet time is just as important as Big Fun time, for all of us.