Nursing Owain

And while we're on breastfeeding. We love to tease Owain about when he's going to stop nursing. Especially my parents who will tut-tut and say that he's a big boy and should stop etc. I don't get indignant about this because I know they mean well and I am guilty of yanking his chain like this once in a while too. The boy is well able to defend his nen-nen turf. Thus far, he had always fended them off by saying that he will stop drinking nen-nen when he is 4 years old and ends by saying indignantly that he is still 3 years old!

But lately, as his 4th birthday draws near, he has changed his tune. He now says: When I am 4 years old, I will put a big sign that says "Mummies can give 4 year old boys nen-nen!" When I remind him that he said he would stop asking for nen-nen when he is 4 years old, he grins and laughs and denies saying it.

Well, he's the oldest I have nursed so far and he shows no signs of stopping. He still wakes up every 3 hours at night asking for nen-nen. I'm trying to night-wean him because my eczemic nipples are really crying out for some relief and because Trin is constantly on the breast at night - more so than Owain. Between this one and that one, it means almost constant nursing through the night hours. The poor latching and shallow suckling on broken skin and fissures is really agony. So I'm trying to wean Owain for the night - but it does not look like it's happening. He still wakes up regularly to ask for nen-nen.

These days at night, I ask for a story before nursing. He has to tell me a story before I nurse him. He always laughs and protests and then teases me by saying: "Once upon a time... The End!" and then he guffaws. When I insist, he tells me a 'story' - "Once upon a time... There was a boy called Owainy Benedict Chong Boon Khai... One day his baby sister went to the minimart... and Owainy couldn't find her. So he went to the minimart himself. The end!" Guffaw again.

We go a few rounds and then I relent and let my fishball boy nurse.

This thing about the minimart - the children love to go there and Lolita spoils them by taking them there and buying them little tidbits. Yesterday when I came home, Owain rushed up to me to say: Mummy, you will be very proud of me because I went to the minimart and I didn't eat Mamee Noodles! (His favourite unhealthy snack! He knows I disapprove of Mamee Noodles - those dried noodle snacks with a sachet of flavouring - MSG laden! - that is poured over the noodles and given a good shake.)

And the sweetest thing about nursing an older child - not just the verbal parlay, but the sweet expressions of love. Sometimes he would hug my arm, look up at me and say, mouth full of breast: Mum, I love you soooooo much. And I will never forget you.

Ah that pierces the heart so deeply. Words like that make me realise why love is always akin to a sword, one feels it sting so deeply and keenly, like a solid ache in the chest. I tell him too: I love you sooooooo much too. And I will never forget you also. Never ever.

I'm glad I'm blogging because this fishball boy will always stay this way in my blog - frozen in this kind of poignant sweetness. With every day that passes, he will grow up and away from me. The selfish part of me wishes I can stop time and keep him forever as my little smart-mouthed fishball boy. But no one can stop time. This is life. He will grow to be an older boy, then a teenager, then a man, get married, move away from me. And I will no longer be the centre of his universe as I am now. So now is the time to love as deeply and fully and richly as possible. But deep inside, I will always remember my fishball boy and the times when he tells me stories and tells me he loves me. Years later, these will be the memories I will call up to pierce my heart all over again.

How could I ever forget my fishball boy?