Last night Simon and I had our first night out alone since Miss Isabelle arrived. It was our 2nd wedding anniversary last week, so we decided we would go out for dinner, while Granny and Grandad looked after Isabelle. It was my idea...but I regretted suggesting it as soon as it was out of my mouth!
Yes, I will admit that I do not like leaving Isabelle. I know that everyone in my family is 100% capable of looking after her wonderfully - probably better than me - but it doesn't stop me from having insane separation anxiety at the very thought of leaving my best buddy behind.
But, despite what my mom seems to think, it's not actually the separation anxiety that is the HUGE problem. The issue is that Isabelle is a bottle refuser. She won't entertain a bottle at all. I have tried to get her used to it, to no avail. Simon claims she will take it, as she drank a mammoth three quarters of an ounce once (babies her age who take formula drink up to 7oz in one feed!) but he is as delusional as my mom sometimes! We had actually gone out once before - to an engagement party- for a few hours when she was 6 weeks, but left after she'd been put to bed when I knew she wouldn't need fed.
Everyone tells me "she won't starve to death" and I am fully aware that if I go out for a few hours that she will not waste away to nothing, especially with those cheeks. But I hate the thought of her being hungry at bedtime and not having anything to eat because she won't take the bottle. People say "if she's hungry enough she will take it" and, I may be a bit of a sentimental mom here, but the thought of her being that hungry - so hungry she will do something she hates for food - doesn't sit well with me. At this point, my dad would say "what happens if you die? She'd have to take a bottle then". He has actually said this to me, and I have to admit I have no answer. Since I have no plans to die soon, I didn't bother coming up with an answer either.
So, there I am, having defrosted milk I know she won't drink, separation anxiety setting in. Imagine how disappointed I was when my parents actually turned up at the allotted time to take the reins. We had booked a 6.45pm table at a local restaurant and Isabelle was stuffed full of milk before we left. I left her pram set up, and the car seat in the car but I was assured by my dad (him of the death prophecy) that they wouldn't need any of it, and they would be fine. The words "enjoy yourself" we used several times...
Off we go at 6.30, and a lovely dinner was had. After some amazing desserts, Simon wanted to stay for a cup of tea (we are very rock 'n' roll) but this request was denied, and I made him take me home. We arrived back at the crazy hour of 8.30pm.........granny, grandad and Isabelle were nowhere to be seen. Cue panic stations from me that she'd been screaming and they'd had to drive for two hours to keep her calm. Or that my mom had murdered my dad and taken off with Isabelle. I finally heard the car arrive home, and scared the life out of them both by having the nerve to be in my own home.
So, had she been in tears the whole time? Half starved? Well...no. It turns out they'd all had a lovely time together and she had been in great form! She was ready for a nice feed, and popped off to bed without a care in the world. So it all turned out OK in the end - we both survived (apart from the minor head injury she received at the hands of my dad, who said it induced a crying fit like she was being murdered. That's him off the babysitting list).
When are we heading out again I hear you ask? Well, all I'll say is it's 51 weeks until our next anniversary - I'll get my mom to pop that into her diary now.