I have some, let’s say business, to attend to in Tampa this coming weekend. It’s a four hour drive round trip and then there is the undetermined amount of time I must spend there to complete my task, meaning I may be away from home for a considerable chunk of time. The Hubster, I assumed, would just watch the girls and I would take Levi with. He, however, thought that I should pump and leave the baby with him. Yes, LEAVE the baby with HIM. You know, the baby that clings to me like monkey 15 hours a day and would like my tit permanently tethered to his mouth.

For a brief second I felt a thrilling rush and an urge to shout FREEDOM! An impulse to jump up on an ironing board, pretending to surf like those old Peppermint Pattie commercials overtook me but then my heart crawled up into my throat. I wondered how I would carry on without him settled on my hip, his little hands busily swiping at my hair or fishing around in my shirt. Would he cry for hours on end? Would he sleep? Would he miss me? What if I don’t leave enough milk, will formula make him ill? How exactly does the Hubster plan on getting milk into him, considering he thus far has soundly rejected all bottles…

A friend, who’ll be joining me, has threatened to pour Vodka down my throat to keep me from hyperventilating while I’m gone and as enticing as blind drunkness is, I still can’t help but feel unsure. Of my three, he needs/wants me the most and also is my babiest baby. My girls were in such hurries to grow up, but sweet little Levi is content to be a baby. I am content to indulge that. I have 6 days to pump milk and make a decision. I’m sure I’ll be worrying about it all week, after all babies need their mamas right?