Two years ago, when my tiny man really was living up to his moniker, I was doing my 91st lap of the bedroom at 3am, trying to rock him to sleep. He was full, burped and ready to go back to bed - ‘pleeease, I begged him in my head, won’t you just go to sleep?’
I remember dreaming of being a millionaire with a maternity nurse, who’d swoop in, bring the babe into the bedroom to have milk, then let me doze straight back to sleep… So I didn’t have eye-bags the size of Ikea’s blue plastic ones.
But last week, I actually interviewed a maternity nurse - not for my own use, but in my job as a journalist. She works solely for the super-rich, royalty, and celebrities, and told me stories of regularly being handed over an hours-old newborn, fresh out of hospital, by parents who then wouldn’t even visit their tiny one for whole fortnight.