Three years, seven months, and two weeks

It happened slowly.
Almost imperceptibly.
No more at night.
No more in the morning.
No more at naps.
Two nights ago he asked at bedtime,  but I told him that we only do that during the day now.  "You may when you wake up in the morning, if you'd like."  He didn't ask the next day.
It was such a gradual process, I didn't even know it was our last time.
Sometime, in the week of June the fifteenth, Zachariah weaned.
We made it through teething.
We made it through pregnancy.
We even made it through the first few weeks of him having a baby brother.
He may ask again one day, on a whim.
He may not.
I will probably let him if he does.
If you had told me three and a half years ago that we would have made it this far on our journey, I would have told you that you were crazy.
It was a beautiful journey.
Zachariah may remember nursing.
Or he may not.
I will always cherish the time spent with my boy as he snuggled up to me and I sniffed his sweet, curly head.
Thank you, darling boy, for three years, seven months, and two weeks of nursing snuggles.