Being a parent is exhausting. Sex is the place where I can find myself again
For quite a lot of my late-adolescent and early-adult life, I thought that a positive pregnancy test when you want a baby might be tender and even romantic. “You’ve got to be kidding, Clover.” Pete’s face slides downwards when I stand in front of him in our room, holding out the test box.
A rare moment: the house is still and we’re alone. I am as apprehensive as he is. Having another baby will be like letting a wild animal into our life. Although I want the mess, the reality is terrifying. I really want this baby. I must have it. But it will also take up so much of my brain and my life, that however much I want it, I know another child will stop me having the thoughts I want to have, and, to a great extent, living the life I want to lead.
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