These things are never as bad as you think they’re going to be, are they? Leaving Little B with Granny and going into central London and back again really wasn’t that bad, even though I did miss him terribly and it felt like we’d been apart an age.
My stinking cold managed to contain itself for an hour or so, my out-of-date noughties outfit was fine (according to Gok flared trousers are actually back in), my boobs didn’t leak and instead of being the grilling I thought it would be the interview was more like a nice chat. And it’s fine just to work weekends. I start next Sunday.
It’s actually rather exciting. The office is the beating heart of tabloid journalism, with several publications under one roof and a buzz in the air that’s infectious.
So industrial-scale milk pumping and military-style planning have begun again in earnest, because this time I’ll be out of the house for about 13 hours at a stretch. I still haven’t quite got my head round how many ounces of milk that means, so am simply adding to the milk bank in the freezer on a daily basis.
I just hope they don’t mind me storing it in the office fridge too, because there’s no way I’ll be able to go that long without expressing. I’ll explode. Which would actually make a really good headline…
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