GO/TRUST: My gym membership was re-booted back in March but I've only been able to go back once since then when Lovely Husband had a morning off and looked after the boy. Such a waste of money, so enough, is enough. I packed up Dear Boy with a change of clothes, a spare nappy and a just-in-case bottle and squirmed my way back into my gym pants. The woman in charge of the creche took him from me as I came in the door and held him while I signed in and faffed around with the bag and instructions. Then I went off to the cardio room and strode purposefully on the walking machine for twenty minutes before the urge to check up on my boy was too great. When I sauntered past the glass wall, Dear Boy was sitting quietly in the carer's arms while she played at a tiny table with an older child. Twenty minutes on the stationary bike and another saunter past: Dear Boy conked out in a crib in the bright room, snoozing his little head off. Twenty minutes of weights: still snoozing. 10 minutes of stretching: Dear Boy was just starting to wriggle awake. He was cheery when I went in to pick him up and patted my face when I gave him a cuddle.
So all went well, and the anxiety was all for naught. The only draw back was the smell of another woman's talc-y perfume or deodorant lingering on my boy's head all afternoon. What a strange experience that is.