The Mean Wean

My sister walked in on my the other day and said 'I can't believe a child this size is still breastfeeding.'
I was more than surprised to hear this coming from my sister, who is currently anticipating a drug-free home birth and who has rightfully become the butt of trans-fat jokes for her devotion to health food. It never occurred to me that the size of the baby determines the duration of his nursing. And of course, one has nothing to do with the other.
The truth is, I've been trying for a couple of months now to cut down on feedings. I'm aiming for a one-year wean, but Baby has a different idea in mind. He knows what we're up to and he objects passionately, especially at 3am when snuggling doesn't count unless it involves boob.
Last night, exhausted and suffering from a fever, I gave in. I don't mind breastfeeding. In fact, I love it. I love his sweet 'I only look like I'm asleep' suckling face. I love how he reaches for my mouth while he's fressing. I love making him feel warm and secure and happy. I just wish that I could offer him the same feeling without the hormonal commitment. And that's why I'm bothering to start this weaning process at all.
My sister told me that by nine or ten months, her baby didn't really care much for nursing anymore anyway. This is obviously not the case here. In fact, although he eats several square meals a day (ptu ptu ptu), I am under the impression that he wouldn't mind, at the very least, a milky dessert to each one. He would suck suck suckle all night if I let him still. I don't know what to do. If it wasn't for the fight that my body is putting up against this process then I wouldn't worry about it, and I'd just keep nursing him happily into toddlerhood and beyond.