So that’s it. After 20 months, 27 days and approximately 6 hours, last night BB had her last ever breast feed.

As of bed time this evening, Misery Guts will offer her cow’s milk from a Special Cup instead. I won’t be there – I shall make myself scarce – because mummy = booby. It’s not days one or two that worry me, it’s on day three plus that I suspect things will get tricky. But we shall see.

The last week, in which we cut out day time feeds completely, couldn’t have gone any better. By day four she was asking for milk pretty much on the hour, but was easily diverted, and while there were a few tears, these quickly dried up if orange juice was on offer instead.

So here’s to not needing to be at home with boobs out at 7pm every evening. What will I do? I could go to the cinema, go for a walk, a swim, a run, start a class – the possibilities are endless.

But the very first thing I’m going to do is ditch the nursing bras and buy some lovely, brand spanking new ones.