Itz Holistically Wholesome

After nursing my three‑year‑old daughter for nearly three and a half years, I finally reached the moment where I knew it was time to begin night weaning. Baby girl still does not sleep throughout the night but wakes two, three, sometimes even more times each night to nurse, and as much as I’ve cherished this season, my body is tired. I’m older now, and the broken sleep is catching up with me. I can feel the weariness settling into my bones.

And honestly… it’s time.

Her brother weaned after age four, and he was so calm about it. But this little one; she is determined, fiery, and unafraid to fight for what she wants. I am not tough by nature, so this has been hard. A huge part of me aches with her when she cries, and and I have to keep reminding myself not to give in. Not because I don’t want to comfort her, but because I know this transition is necessary for both of us.

It doesn’t help that her big brother keeps whispering, “Mommy, maybe just give her a little,” or that she pleads with hands clasped, “I want to nurse, Just two minutes,” with those tiny eyes and that trembling voice. Every part of me wants to scoop her up and make the crying stop.

But I’m learning that sometimes love looks like holding the boundary, even when it hurts.

A Brother’s Love in the Middle of the Night

Last night, in the thick of her tears and fighting, something unexpected happened.

Her big brother, half asleep, eyes barely open, reached out for her.
Not for me.
Not for quiet.
For her.

He wrapped his arms around his baby sister and whispered, “It’s okay, Emmah. I’m here for you. You don’t have to cry.” He offered her water.
He talked to her about their big sister leaving for college soon and how she has left them to see her friends and will be back soon. He reminded her she wasn’t alone. And she melted into him, letting his presence do what my milk used to do. His soft, tone calmed me as well.

She fell asleep in his arms.

When she woke again, crying and fighting for the comfort she wanted, he woke again too. I apologized for disturbing his sleep, and he said, with the gentlest conviction:

“It’s okay. She’s my baby sister. She can keep me up as long as she wants.”

Then he hugged her again, and she quieted, not because the crying was gone, but because she was held and she held him right back.

And in that moment, I thanked him.
I told him how proud I was of his compassion, patience, and tenderness. I reminded him what a great brother he is, how his gentleness is a gift, how his heart is something special. He smiled, sleepy and humble, but I needed him to hear it.
I needed me to hear it too.

A Reminder I Didn’t Know I Needed

Lately, I’ve been wrestling with the feeling that I’m not growing personally; that there is so much more I want to do for myself. Motherhood can feel like a pause button on your own dreams, and choosing to stay home and care for my children has been the hardest, most sacrificial thing I’ve ever done.

Some days I wonder if I’m doing enough.
If I’m becoming enough.
If I’m losing too much of myself.

But last night, watching my son love his sister so tenderly, I saw the fruit of my labor. The invisible work, the quiet seeds, the prayers whispered over tired days. I saw evidence that my presence has shaped something good, something lasting.

It reminded me that I am growing; just not always in the ways the world measures. It reminded me that staying home was not a small thing. It reminded me that I am doing something right.

And it reminded me of this truth as well:
If I choose to pursue my career, my calling, or the next chapter of my life, my children will be okay. They are rooted. They are loved. They are becoming who they are meant to be.

Last night showed me that even in the hard moments, love is doing its quiet work.

And sometimes, in the middle of the night, that love wakes up too.

“But you, Lord, are a compassionate and gracious God,
slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness.”
Psalm 86:15

This verse has been holding me steady through this transition. Night weaning has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect: physically, emotionally, spiritually. But even in the hardest moments, God’s compassion has met me. His faithfulness shows up in the small things: in my daughter’s resilience, in my son’s tenderness, in the reminder that love grows quietly in the dark.

Let’s Talk About It

Are you a breastfeeding mom
How long did you breastfeed, and what was weaning like for you
I’d love to hear your story, the hard parts, the sweet parts, and everything in between.

Be well and be blessed.

With love and purpose,
Tomika Chance
Itz Holistically Wholesome