So Lucky. Dawn O’Porter

of my sandwich and make sure my mouth doesn’t open as I eat it. He takes his time, but eventually backs down.

      ‘OK. Thank you for saying sorry. And please, no more of that … nonsense. OK?’

      By ‘nonsense’ I presume he means sex toys. I nod my head and smile.

      ‘So how cute was that picture you sent me of Tommy in the park? That squirrel was so close to him, amazing how tame they are.’

      He cheers right up.

      ‘I know, and if Tommy was any bigger I’m sure he would have grabbed it.’

      We sit in the cafe for a further fifteen minutes, talking about nothing but our baby, because when we talk about anything else, we realise we have nothing to say. When we get home – we were gone just over one hour – Janet is watching EastEnders and barely looks at me as she leaves. Michael walks her home. I go straight to the kitchen to retrieve my vibrator, but she must have taken out the bins, and rooting around in the outside rubbish looking for a sex toy is not a low I am willing to reach right now.

      Upstairs, I take off the body-con dress and put it in a bag ready to take to a charity shop. I rub cream into my sore feet and set my alarm for eleven p.m., when I will give Tommy a dream feed.

      Tonight didn’t exactly go to plan. I have zero chance of getting laid. And what a waste of a perfectly good vibrator.

       Lauren Pearce – Instagram post

       @OfficialLP

       The image is of Lauren, she is lying on her front on a bed, her body reflected in a large gold-framed mirror. She’s reaching forward, holding the phone to take a selfie. The angle is just right, so you can see the curve of her hip and the top of her bottom. Her feet are raised and cutely hooked together. She is looking seductively into the camera, as if it is a lover. She is alone. There is a carton of coconut water next to the bed.

       The caption reads:

      Happiness and hydration go hand in hand. I don’t feel myself if I don’t drink enough (and no, I don’t mean vodka LOL). Taking care of my body and my skin helps me to feel good. I start every day with a #FRESHCoconutWater #AD #Cocofresh #selflove #reachout #mentalillness #hydrate #vegan #women

       @turningup286872: Thank you for being you

       @kellyheap: Is all you do drink drinks? Smoothies, coconut water? Can we see you eat a bloody meal please?

       @HowdyMunchBrain: Twat. You have the perfect life. Get over yourself.

       @Flickerlights-off: Queen.

       @PatreonofLorralites: You’re so lucky. I wish I was you. I’d do anything to be you.

       @gellyjeellybelly: That shit tastes like feet. What’s Gav like in bed, I reckon he likes a blowie, amiriiight?

       @YUMMIETUMMY: I find you so inspiring. The best example of how to live your best life … keep posting, keep being you.

       4

       Ruby

      Bonnie was ill for most of the night. Neither of us have slept. She watched TV from six a.m., but five hours later she’s bored and walking around the house moaning like a handmaid, as if forced to stay by a cruel regime she is desperate to overthrow. I have a number of errands to run. I see mothers all the time, taking their children out and about: food shopping, clothes shopping, going into restaurants … they make it look so easy. I don’t do things like that with Bonnie because she screams at me whenever I try. I get most of my chores done while she is at nursery, or while she is with Liam at the weekend. I see those other mothers just getting on with their lives in the company of their children and wonder if maybe they have drugged them? Or if they share some secret to keeping toddlers under control that I don’t know? Maybe today I will discover it, because I have no childcare and I simply must get on with my day. I have urgent things to do, like buying mousetraps, tights and a new bra.

      I wouldn’t usually force myself to try on new bras in a bright changing room, especially before a wax, but the underwire came out of my only one this morning, and it’s been so long since I got a new one that I have no idea what size I am. My body shape has barely changed in twenty years, but my boobs have never been the same size the day I got pregnant. I’m almost sure I’ve dropped a cup size.

      I tend to do this with things that bring me comfort, like bras. I wear one until it literally falls off my body, hand-washing it most nights in the bathroom sink. This one has been going for five years.

      ‘Bonnie, you’re going to come with Mummy to the shops.’

      ‘NO, shops are boring. I want to go to nursery.’ She crosses her arms, stamps her foot and pushes out her lower lip.

      ‘Bonnie, if you’re good I’ll buy you some sweets.’ She is in her buggy in under thirty seconds and waits patiently as I put on her shoes. Are sweet bribes how the other mothers control their kids? I think of all Bonnie’s vomiting last night and groan. But she does seem a lot better.

      We finally get walking and I push her buggy into the Marks and Spencer’s food hall, letting her choose a few different items of confectionary to keep her occupied.

      ‘Take four things,’ I tell her. ‘If you’re good, you can have it all.’

      We then head over to the hosiery department where I pick up six pairs of eighty-denier black tights, the ones that apparently regulate my temperature, and a few bras that look about the right size. In the dressing room I leave Bonnie on the other side of a curtain eating a Rocky Road bar so I can try them on. But as soon as I shut the curtain, she goes apeshit.

      ‘Mummy, Mummy!’ she screams, drawing the attention of all the old women trying on bras. About four grey hairdos poke out of changing rooms to witness the child screaming in distress.

      ‘Bonnie, stop it,’ I say firmly. ‘I’ll be twenty seconds.’ I shut the curtain quickly, and she screams again. I have no idea why she suddenly has separation anxiety; usually she kicks me until I leave her alone.

      ‘Mummy! Mummy, no!’

      I tear open the curtain.

      ‘Bonnie, please pack it in. I need to try these on.’

      I hear a ‘tut’ from the cubicle next door. A little old lady pokes her head out and looks at Bonnie sympathetically.

      ‘Poor girl, she’s frightened,’ she says, in that annoying way that old people do. They were parents to toddlers so long ago that they have forgotten how awful it is. They remember the sweet bits, the cuddles, the playfulness, the stories. Mother Nature has rid their memories of the turbulent mood swings, violent meltdowns, sleepless nights and their own stress-induced outbursts. Of course that is what happens – if all adults and old people were like me then we would horrify younger generations into never reproducing. It is imperative that humans forget the turmoil of birth and parenting small children for the evolution of the human race, but dearie me, when you come face to face with it in a Marks and Spencer’s changing room, it’s hard to accept it as natural.

      ‘She’s not frightened, she’s being silly.’

      ‘Ahhhh, give her a cuddle,’ says another of the set-and-perm brigade.

      ‘She doesn’t need a cuddle,’ I say, whipping the curtain shut again. I just need to try on some bras, then we can leave.

      ‘Oh dear, is your mummy very angry?’