Since Bobal is breastfeeding, Mush is basically ‘on boob’ 24/7 and cannot leave her Mummy’s side. This can become quite frustrating for both of us as I can’t take Mush away from Bobal for any length of time and Bobal can’t get that much needed alone time.
We have recently begun expressing to allow us both the flexibility we desire. I say ‘we’ because although Bobal has the glorious milk makers; I’m an organized genious making sure the expressing happens (Bobal probably has another story).
Regardless, the goal was clear: express enough milk so that Bobal could be apart from Mush for a while and I could get some quality alone daddy-daughter time. This could potentially be quite a stressful time for even the most level headed of couples. I was a little apprehensive, would I be ok on my own, will Mush be ok away from Boob (I mean Mummy of course) and would Mush take the bottle or decide that today was the day she didn’t like it? Even with all these questions running around I was confident I would be fine. And in short I was completely fine, it’s as if I’m her Dad. Bobal however didn’t do so great.
Bobal was booked in to get her hair coloured by my sister (a hairdresser). I thought this would be a nice trial excursion. It would give Bobal a brief interlude from our gorgeous milk monster, allow her to get pampered a little and generally just have some good ‘me time’. However I thought wrong! Here’s why.
The Day before.
This day was filled with apprehension and furious planning for the *sarcastic tone* ‘4 hours away from Mush’. Would Mack be ok on his own, will Mush still remember who Mummy is with a fancy new hair colour? I was beginning to think my wife had been beamed away and replaced by a new crazy version of herself. She frantically packed and re-packed the changing bag, sterilised bottles and chose outfits ready for my ‘epic adventure’ to baby clinic. There was a lot to do… apparently. Unbeknownst to me this was just the tip of the emotional iceberg, the start of the rollercoaster ride of anxiety.
Bobal wakes up and the first words out of her mouth are ‘I don’t think I can go today’. Yes it’s official, Bobal has taken the final step and crossed the border into crazy town. She was so adorably stressed in the most endearingly, cute way. She flipped back and forth countless times, ‘I’m going’, ‘I’m not going’, ‘I can go’, ‘I can’t go’. I was obviously super supportive and told her that she was bat shit crazy and to calm down to which she blurted out ‘no one in this this family loves me as much as I love them!’ This made us both chuckle as she knew how ridiculous she was being.
Eventually however we got ready and ventured into the big wide world completing the arduous 10 minute car journey to the salon. There was a tearful (from Bobal) albeit quick good bye as we were sat at traffic lights expecting them to change any second. This rushed handover exacerbated the situation making things all the more stressful for my emotional wifey. Personally I thought I was free and clear from this point… again I was wrong.
I received the sum total of 6 Whatsapp messages, 3 text messages and 2 missed phone calls all requesting updates and pictures (as if she needed photographic proof of our daughter’s well being). The funny thing is the more pictures I took and sent, the more texts I replied to; the less I was actually looking after our daughter! Then strikes a catastrophe; Bobal’s phone died (indicative of over use?!?!). So she then got my sister to text me.
Contrary to popular belief Mush and I went to baby clinic, I got her weighed and then we went home and napped… full stop. In Bobal’s head however, there was a legitimate chance that, to quote Ross from Friends ‘a pigeon, a pigeon. No, no wait, no, no, an eagle flew in. Landed on the stove and caught fire. The baby, seeing this, jumps across the apartment to the mighty bird’s aid. The eagle, however, misconstrues it as an act of aggression and grabs the baby in its talons. Meanwhile the faucet fills the apartment with water. Baby and bird still ablaze are locked in a death grip, swirling around in the whirlpool that fills the apartment.’
The lovely thing is, is that I know none of this worry is directed towards me. Bobal has complete confidence in me as a parent as I do with her. What I was dealing with was a fairly decent case of separation anxiety.
Upon being reunited Bobal immediately leaked both from her eyes and boobs and grabbed Mush to smell her head and squish her thighs. Then began 20 minutes of sadness as my sister got more smiles from Mush than Mummy thus confirming Bobal’s worst fears. Mush had forgotten who her mummy was completely, she could no longer recognise her with new red hair and had already phoned the adoption agency and lined up 3 new prospective mummies (she is very advanced).
10 minutes later
Bobal congratulates herself on not getting too stressed and dealing with the separation admirably!
I then begin to wonder when the ceremony will be, the ceremony to crown Bobal queen of crazy town… congratulations can I have a divorce now please?