The boy has been weaned.
It happened through a combination of seizing the opportunities presented and being ready to wean. Me being ready.
After having the boy throw up on my chest three times while in the middle of nursing I decided to stop until the he was no longer horribly sick. This was a purely selfish decision. I didn't want to keep washing throw up off my bra. But saying no to him during this time made me think that it would be nice to say no period. The idea of actually weaning him, not just talking about it, was planted in my head.
Once he was better I said yes to most of his requests to nurse. But I also occasionally said no and offered him the option of a bottle of milk instead. He was uninterested in the bottle at first. I mean, why have cow milk when you can have breastmilk for free. But offering it to him got him used to holding it and playing with it and slowly he started to accepted it.
While we were in Montreal I only nursed him one night. He was overtired and wasn't happy to just lie down next to his dad and fall asleep. We hadn't brought a bottle with us or maybe I would have tried that. I nursed him again Monday night after we were back. And that was that. We were done.
He hasn't asked nurse since Tuesday. No more head tilts.
Now he climbs into bed with his bottle of milk and drinks it happily. Sometimes he passes it to me as I lie next to him at nap time, and then he snatches it back. Thursday night when the husband and I were out the babysitter watched as the girl lay next to her brother in bed holding his bottle for him while he drank it. Then she cuddled him while he fell asleep.
I don't feel sad. I feel a bit guilty that I don't feel sad but I was done. The boy is twenty months old now and I had breastfeed longer than I did with the girl. Even though this is it, no more babies and more more breastfeeding, I don't feel sad.
I'm ready for whatever comes next.