We both burst out laughing, which unfortunately gives Rose one hell of a fright and she lets out a cry of alarm. I leap out of bed and pick her up. She immediately settles in my arms and stares up at me with her knowing blue eyes.

Scott comes to stand beside me and leans in to look down at my daughter.

“You must just want to stare at her all day long,” he whispers.

I nod, my heart racing. Where his shoulder presses against mine, my skin prickles.

“It’s certainly an occupational hazard,” I add.

Rose looks as if she’s returning Scott’s smile, but I know what’s about to come.

“Get ready,” I say

“What?”

Explosive noises erupt from Rose’s bottom and the smell of newborn poo attacks my nostrils.

“Well, that’s one way to say hello,” says Scott, stepping back.

I carry Rose to the changing table and lay her down. “I understand if you want to leave the room for this. Pretty sure it’s a leaker.” Lifting her legs, I notice a yellow stain already seeping through her bodysuit.

Scott sits back on the nursing chair and reaches for his knitting. “I might just finish this row.”

Shaking my head, I clean up the mess and change Rose into a completely new outfit, including the caramel cardigan Scott knitted.

I hold her out towards him. “Any chance you can hold her while I rinse her clothes?”

Scott puts his knitting aside and reaches for Rose without hesitation. “Thought you’d never ask,” he says calmly.

Once again, the man surprises me and my stomach does a little somersault when he confidently props Rose on his knee, both his hands supporting her head, and starts to chat to my baby as if she’s a friend he’s bumped into on the street.

“Hello, Rose. You’re looking particularly lovely today. And what have you been up to?”

Rose gurgles in response and I gather her soiled clothes and leave them to enjoy their conversation.

I make it as far as the laundry door before Mum appears.

“Oh, I’ll sort those for you, Trish,” she says, snatching the clothes from my arms. “It sounds like you’re having a lovely time.”

“Mum,” I snap as she dumps the clothes in the bucket and turns on the tap. “I’m perfectly capable.”

Mum spins around, tears in her eyes. “Trish, I…” She straightens and clears her throat. “I realize you’re more than capable of washing these things, but I’ve just been listening to my daughter laugh for the first time in forever and selfishly, I want to keep hearing her laugh, so please, let me clean up baby poo.”

Yet again, I wonder what possessed me to allow my recently estranged mother to move into my house. I’m torn between wanting to scream at her and give her a giant hug.