Nancy has started going to the childminder this week. And I fluctuate between being really happy that they're getting on, to feeling a bit wounded and half hoping that Nancy will reject her and only ever love me.
The weird thing is, she's only been with her for three days, but Nancy seems bigger. Physically. I think. But definitely more grown up.
And her face seems to have changed. She looks more and more like a little girl, like I can imagine what she'll look like when she's 4. Or 12.
It might be because it's the longest we've been apart from each other, and I'm starting to see her as other people might, instead of a mini extension of me.
So. Day one was doable. As we've had lots of days apart from each other.
Day two felt like a little bit of a strain. And I kept wondering what she was doing every other minute.
But by the end of day three, I was definitely ready for the working week to end and to get some hanging out with her. I hugged her too tightly when I picked her up from the childminder and made her cry a little bit which was a tad embarassing. And then without thinking I gave her an almighty, eye closing sniff.
The actual going back go work bit has been a suprisingly easy adjustment. In fact more than easy. Enjoyable. It's amazing how much you can get done in three days, when you're not with a little person.
I think your brain is reprogrammed with children to get things done really quickly, as normally you only have about a window of opportunity of about 45 minutes to do stuff when they're asleep.
So, given straight 8 hours is almost like a pre-Nancy full working week.
Unfortunately, I dont look really like I'd envisaged I would heading back to work. I had visions of being all kind of like city girlesque.
Saying goodbye to my daughter, then swanning off in my skinny jeans and tailored jacket with a cool hair do to go and embrace the working day.
But the clothes I bought from eBay to wear are now straining at the seams. It turns out the weight you lose when breastfeeding just piles back on when you cut right back or stop. I guess part of it is changing your diet. I probably don't needs a four finger Kit Kat to keep me going at 10am in the same way I did when feeding Nancy 10 times a day.
So the anchor breastfeeding top is still very much a wardrobe staple, and is probably the best eight pounds I ever spent.
And the 5.30am starts are beginning to take their toll.
It's not possible to attempt to lead a pre-Nancy life in the evenings it turns out- drinking half a bottle or wine, or staying up to watch Line of Duty, and function properly ther next day.
Something's got to give.
To start with it was having to go to bed earlier. Instead of staying up, deliriously tired under the premise that we were having a bit of grown up time.
Which grow ups lie on the sofa, not finishing sentences because they're so tired they can't remember how they started, and watching the first 20 minutes of any TV programme , falling asleep only to catch the end credits? Fine with something like Eastenders. Not so great with Lewis.
So we decided a happy compromise is if we take it turns to get up with her at the weekend. Giving the other person a 'lie in.'
8.30am as a lie in.
If my now self could meet my 20 year old self and explain that getting up at 8.30am was a luxury I think we'd have problems.