It was a momentous weekend. The time had finally arrived for me to be apart from The Popster for a whole 24 hours, (It turned out, due to engineering works by Southeastern, that it was actually closer to 26 hours, but who's counting). Since the end of October I have been hand cuffed to The Popster - we do not part. We have to be together as she is totally dependent on me. If Jon had a boob full of milk then the last 4.5 months would have been different, but he doesn't and I do - two in fact! The Popster had been in training for this day for the last few weeks. Training consisted of me feeding Poppy as usual, minus one feed, as well as pumping two full feeds a day - 1 for the freezer and 1 for a training bottle.
The results of the training, pre-separation, was as follows: The Popster still hated drinking from a bottle so would have, at most, half a feed on one feed each day we attempted it - almost every day. Secondly, my boobs were on overdrive!! If you are not already aware, the way breastfeeding works is on a supply and demand system. The boobs produce the milk to the demand - between The Popster and I, there was great demand. This meant I spent most of the time with very full boobs that would become painful and start to leak after a couple of hours of not being "relieved". A few days before the separation I had to get up at 1am to go downstairs and attach myself to the pump to relieve some of the pressure as I felt I was about to explode! Jon was asleep and I'm pretty sure he would think exploding boobs was not the best wake up call. About 2 mins into the "expressing" The Popster woke for a feed so she took over from the pump, although it is difficult for her when the boob is that full and hard. (Maybe this is too much information now - but there is something about having a baby that makes you want to share this kind of intimate detail with all and sundry!)
So training didn't really look as though it was working and it was making my life extremely uncomfortable. The reason for the planned separation was my soon-to-be-sister-in-laws hen weekend. How could I miss that? Despite the uncertainty surrounding how hungry The Popster would go, Jon told me to go away for the hen night and he would cope. I think he had a lot more faith than I did. I imagined it would be absolute hell for him. I also realised it would be hell for him and not me, so off I went to London on Saturday morning with my electric breast pump packed in my shoulder bag. That was my first mistake. Why on earth was I carrying a really heavy shoulder bag instead of the small wheelie suitcase that has been sat in our hallway for the last month waiting to be put back in the loft? I used to catch a train to London Mon-Fri every week. I was a seasoned commuter. I knew what to do, I didn't dawdle and get in peoples way. I didn't stop suddenly at the top of escalators so that people would walk into me. I knew what to do when my Oyster card didn't work first time. I knew that the ticket machines were upstairs at Victoria and not down stairs where they are supposed to be. I knew simple tube journeys without having to consult the map. I knew how to amuse myself on the commute and how to avoid the gaze of every other person travelling. However, I had not travelled to London at all so far this year and I had not regularly travelled for almost 5 months. I was rusty.
I sat down on the train and realised I didn't have my iPod. I also didn't have a book. Not even a newspaper. I had to endure the journey to Victoria with only looking out the window to amuse me. Mistake number one. Mistake number two: I had got on a slow train. I didn't check when I checked train times. Usually, the train stops at Bromley South and is then direct to Victoria. This one was destined to stop at many stations. Boring. I finally made it to Victoria. I met my already-sister-in-law and set of for the hotel. The hotel is a two minute walk from the station, but we managed to go the long way round and take 10mins. Everyone was waiting for us. We had to be somewhere by 12pm and we were the last two to arrive. It didn't matter we had plenty of time to get to Picaddily for 12pm. We set off for the tube, people had to get tickets and I stopped them from entering the tube, telling them instead that the ticket machines are upstairs. They're not - they have moved since I was last there and are back downstairs. It was at this moment I realised that right now I'm not a Londoner and I don't know what I'm doing. I did manage to avoid stopping abruptly at the top of an escalator though - I'm not that bad. (Damn tourists).
We reached Tiger Tiger in Picadilly ready for our "Strictly Come Dancing" experience. We were led upstairs and given waiver forms to fill in. My mum wasn't going to partake in the dancing due to a bad back and appalling sense of rhythm and was therefore the designated bag/coat looker after and photographer. (Incidentally, choosing my mum to be official photographer for an embarrassing dance experience is a genius idea as it means it is likely there will be few usable photos!). Whilst we were signing forms declaring ourselves not on drugs, intoxicated or pregnant, (what kind of dancing was this??), my mum was putting out fires. Literally. The big pile of coats etc had been pushed and my scarf had fallen onto a candle. That would have a been a great start to the weekend! Setting off the sprinkler system at a major London night club causing an evacuation would certainly be a story to tell! But my soon-to-be-sister-in-law was quick to notice the sizzling scarf and my mum made a noisy commotion, stamping it out. It was then that we discovered we were in the wrong place and had the wrong teacher. Our dance class was downstairs with a much less intense instructor and no need to sign anything. Apparently we are allowed to do our class high on drugs if we wanted.
We had a quick photo session where we had to prance about on a pretend catwalk and also carry my soon-to-be-sister-in-law in varioous poses putting her right at the centre of all the attention. Her idea of absolute hell. It was then into the warm up. By then it had been roughly 3 hours since I had fed The Popster. That meant my boob was preparing for an explosion so I had to excuse myself from the warm up and do something in Tiger Tiger that has probably never been done before. I suctioned milk from my breast!!! I'm pretty sure Tiger Tiger isn't that kind of club - maybe there is somewhere in SoHo for that kind of thing! We then spent a couple of hours learning a routine to Wham's Wake Me Up Before You Go Go. There is video evidence but due to all of us lacking timing and any kind of actual ability I won't be sharing it with you.
After a couple of hours at the roof bar in Waterstones we made our way back to the hotel where once again I had to "relieve the pressure". This was definitely a different hen weekend experience to any I have had before! We all met for dinner and once again I had to leave - this time before the desserts. I'm so glad the pump takes batteries! This would have been much harder if I had to find a plug.
Off to the theatre to watch Wicked. It was a similar experience to the previous week when I went to see The Kings Speech. i.e. my enjoyment was slightly marred by the big, throbbing, leaking boob. When you tell people you're going to have a baby they all like to mention some kind of bad thing about it - "Oh say good bye to sleeping", "no more exotic holidays for you then", "have fun not drinking" etc etc. No one ever says anything about throbbing boobs everytime you leave your baby for more than 3 hours! When I told people I was going to go away for the weekend, everyones concern was about me missing my daughter. To be perfectly honest I didn't really miss her. I was distracted from missing her by the physical pain. Actually, not really pain, it was just really uncomfortable. I feel a bit guilty for saying I didn't miss her, but it was just so nice to have a tiny bit of normaility. My life has been one way for a very long time and the last 4.5 months has been so far removed from that it was nice to go back to my old life for a brief amount of time - or as close to my old life as my boobs allowed. There was another "relieving" session at 4am and then another pre breakfast before I set off home to be with my baby again. All that "relieving" and nothing to show for it! I couldn't keep any of the milk as it wasn't sterile. It all went down the drain. Literally. Such a waste.
After a rubbish journey home due to engineering works I finally got back home to my baby girl. She was in the middle of a feed so I wasn't sure if I should interrupt or not. She had almost finished her bottle but I stopped her so I could get a huge smile and a cuddle. YAY!!! She was happy to see me. An improvement on the previous week. I rewarded her with a proper feed. Or was I just "relieving" myself again! She had just had a whole bottle but then she took a whole feed from me! Greedy girl. It turns out her day and night with her Dad had gone really well. By then end of the day she had become a bottle pro. Jon and Poppy had had a brilliant chance to have some father/daughter bonding time and they had made the most of it.
Now, I was only away for 24 hours but amazingly in that time she really had changed. All of a sudden she had found her voice. The Popster used to make me laugh as in the mornings she was always silent. I couldn't get a peep out of her. As the day would progress she would start to have crying sessions and by the time we would get to bed time she would be full on hysterical. But basically, silence or crying. In the time I had away she found her voice and boy does she now use it! She now wails. It is sort of a whining but not really - although it can quickly progress to that so you have to be careful. I know that at her age she is supposed to start making noises, but I was expecting happy, baby, gurgling type noises. I was expecting it to be cute. Instead, she sounds as though she is stuck in the bottom of a well and has been there for years. She has been calling for help for so long she hasn't got that urgentness to her wail. She has a tired wail - she has given up any chance of rescue but can't quite stop all together. It really doesn't sound good does it? I hope she sounds happier soon!
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