My own body was a far sight from its pre-baby-ness. Maybe the woman would lend me her baby so I could walk and clench my buttocks…Out of nowhere I was gripped with fear that the baby in the stroller would die because of having been close to me. That I was, in some way, toxic.

In the playground, the man and his baby were still on the swing. What if that child died too? And that one over there, being breastfed on the grass? And it was all traced back to me? Because it could happen. I’d already been responsible for one death.

I knew I was crazy. With so much sleep deprivation, it was no surprise. But part of me actually believed it and that part was terrified.

This couldn’t go on.

I stood up and went straight to the drugstore, where I bought a packet of Unisom. I was in dangerous territory here, buying tablets, but I was desperate. Unisom was basically horrible, an antihistamine which would give me a dry mouth and no happy feels, but it might knock me out.

But I couldn’t tell Luke. I couldn’t tell anyone.

I took it at 10.50 p.m., nodded off—and woke two hours and thirteen minutes later, my mouth like cotton wool. That was it for the night.

Lying in the dark, I was quietly frantic. Where would this end? Seriously?

My mind began tracking back over my day, landing on the baby in the stroller. What if, at home in its apartment, it had developed a high temperature? Or had trouble breathing?

A thrill of terror seized me. Maybe it was already at the hospital, its mom and dad sick with worry?

This was nonsense, I knew it was, just down to lack of sleep.

But what if it wasn’t?

My mind jumped from the anonymous baby in the stroller to my friend Olga Mae’s little boy, Carter. Thirteen months old and cute as a button. What if he died?

Panic spiralled and I had to leave the bedroom and turn on the TV. That calmed me. But the fear began to stack up again until I was convinced that Carter was in danger.

I should call Olga Mae.

But there was no need—Carter was fine and I just needed some sleep.

But what if morning came and the news arrived that Carter was dead? As soon as I had that thought, I reached for my phone.

‘Rachel…?’

‘Can you check Carter? See if he’s okay?’

‘…It’s five a.m. What’s going on?’

‘Just check him. Please.’

‘…Sure.’ Then, ‘All good. He’s sleeping. He’s good.’

‘Breathing normally? No temperature?’

‘His skin feels normal. Rachel, what is it?’

‘Nothing. Thank you for checking. Go back to sleep.’