Nancy has spent her first full day away from me. And she was fine.
Which I was a little disappointed about.
I mean, I obviously would prefer that she's happy and having an ace day. But seeing as we've spent the last two weeks with her in floods of tears when I leave the room, I thought she might have been a tad miffed that I was away for nearly 10 hours.
Especially as I'd expressed more milk than you'd need to make a vat of rice pudding, and as a consequence I'd totally confused my body, and my boobs had filled up to the size of Jordan's by mid morning.
I was up in London and had packed the hand expresser in case of emergencies, but couldn't quite bring myself to sit on the loo in Costa coffee pumping milk, while all the other customers think I've been in there for ages, because I'm a) doing a poo or b) taking heroin.
So I suffered in silence, safe in the knowledge that Ben would be consoling my poor baby who was pining for me.
Until we spoke on the phone and I could hear her laughing away as I was regaled with stories of her eating without complaint and sleeping when she was meant to.
And I realised that when I have to start leaving her with the childminder, it's not Nancy who'll be freaking out. It's me.
At the moment she's developing virtually everyday. She has two little teeth at the bottom which make her look a little bit like a guinea pig. And she can crawl backwards as of the other day, wedging her bum under the sofa, where she waits for you to pull her out and point her in a different direction.
She's making babbling noises that sound like words but clearly aren't.
And she laughs all the time. Which is immense.
What if she starts doing other ace stuff when I'm not there, and the childminder has to tell me about it? I'm going to end up totally resenting her for it. Like she's nicking bits of Nancy.
But what's the alternative? Get her to ring me whenever anything new happens? She does have another three children to look after.
Or ask her specifically not to tell me. So I can pretend I saw it first. And I can tell her about it. And she can smile and nod at me like I'm simple.
Or perhaps tell the childminder I've had a change of heart.
That we don't need her anymore.
And just never go out. I could bin off the idea of work, seeing friends, doing anything past 8 in the evening.
And just watch everything Nancy does all day, every day, like some kind of weirdo.
That would be nice and healthy for her.
Instead of going out, I could just reminisce about when I did do stuff. Tell her anecdotes about the time I went to London with a breast pump I didn't end up using.
I'll probably have to get some better stories under my belt first before battening down the hatches, mind.