In Peter's sixth month, he had something similar to a nursing strike. I could barely get him to latch on, and even when I did, he'd pull off in under two minutes. I knew that he was too young to self-wean, and finally I discovered the problem: distractions. My days of novel-reading while nursing were over (for a time), since the only way I could get Peter to nurse was lying down in a dark room.
Gone was our schedule. Gone was my pumping. I was glad for any time Peter was willing to nurse. For the first time in months, his breastfeeding gave me a sense of relief, much as it had when I brought him home from his newborn surgery. I decided that I would no longer place impediments in our nursing relationship.
So did Peter. He weaned himself off the pacifier within a month. When I tried to introduce solids, he refused. In fact, he would have nothing to do with solids until he could feed himself at nine months.
Since then... What is our story from nine to 18 months? Oh, so much to say! That's the heart of our story, really. All this other stuff I've been writing is a prelude. The older Peter gets, the richer (and the funnier) it all gets. But Breastfeeding Week is over, so the rest of the story will have to wait. I'm sure I'll get the mad impulse to share more sometime in the next few months...