So you may (or may not) be surprised to hear we made it back from Scotland unscathed. I say unscathed – we were both nursing the kind of hangovers we haven’t had since BBB (before BB) – but apart from that we managed to make it home in one piece.
And you may (or may not) be surprised to hear that two whole days and nights away from BB weren’t that bad after all. Walks one would never entertain with a pushchair, tops one would never wear while breast feeding, afternoon naps, leisurely baths before going out to dinner, sipping numerous wines and spirits into the wee hours without being under the glare of the baby monitor: I could get quite used to it.
Of course BB also had a ball – the undivided attention of Granny and Grandpa, trips out, presents: there wasn’t time to wonder where Mummy and Daddy (or breast milk) had got to.
Even so, the best part of the whole weekend had to be opening the front door and hearing BB say ‘Mummy’.
I’ve got the whole world in my hands.