On the 28th of April, a week before Hephzibah’s due date, at around 3/4am in the morning, I remember getting up multiple times to go to the toilet in a little bit of discomfort. It hadn’t really crossed my mind that I was in labour as I had no idea what contractions should, or would feel like, and at the time I thought they were probably just braxton hicks.

I’d NEVER even considered it wouldn’t be an option to breast feed. I skipped the free breast feeding classes, and, wanting a breast reduction all throughout my upper school years to lighten the load, didn’t go any further with it only because there was a possibility that the operation could have meant I wouldn’t be able to breastfeed.

I remember sat on the floor of our bedroom crying, confused how I would ever make pumping work whilst also dealing with this deep grief I felt at the reality that it was seeming less and less likely that she would begin to breastfeed from me again however much I was believing she would.