My children have both been with the child-minder for four days solid for the first time in their short lives.
And neither of them seemed bothered in the slightest.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I want them to be independent, of course I do.
I don’t plan to turn into a helicopter mum. Making friends with their mates and enrolling as a mature student at their universities.
But I would like them to at least acknowledge that I’m not there.
My son has never been away from me for more than a day, and now he’s spending over half his week with a, to all intents and purposes, complete stranger. And he’s having the time of his life by all accounts.
I, on the other hand, went to bits.
I don’t mean emotionally.
To be honest, I missed them both. Of course I did. But being in the company of adults felt like a long over-due treat. Being able to pop out and buy a sandwich, or pay a bill and only take my handbag with me instead of a double buggy, change bag, waterproof cover, wellies, two lunchboxes and a bottle of milk, felt like being unshackled.
But my body had other ideas.
After a week of colds and coughs, my son had reverted back to feeding through the night.
And as a consequence, I developed mastitis.
WHO GET’S MASTITIS WITH A NINE-MONTH-OLD?!
I thought the eye-watering days of not being able to fasten your coat up without feeling like someone was Chinese burning your chest were over.
And it took four days to go away.
WHO GET’S MASTITIS WITH A NINE-MONTH-OLD THAT LASTS FOUR DAYS?!
So, this milk bar is reaching closing time.
I can’t spend my life carrying around an electric breast-pump, praying that I won’t have to find a discreet meeting room with a plug socket.
And in the meantime, I’m going to be the most entertaining, fun, not-mardy, never brush off the ‘can you play with me?’ with an ‘in a minute’, kind of mum ever.
So that my children have a brill time with the childminder.
But they remember that the King of Brill comes to pick them up at 5.30.