We finally get into a steady rhythm and his cries die away. His face is like that of a wise old man and a cherub combined, like he knows the answers to life’s mysteries, but also enjoys hanging out on clouds with harps to balance out all that heavy stuff. As he sucks, the creases in his brow smooth and his eyes close. He’s blissed out and I did that. I made that happen. I wish so much that Vince were here to be a part of this. That he could see how luminous the little tyke is and how well we fit together.

I didn’t need a head doctor, Vince. This is all I needed. Just this.

I swallow back an unexpected rush of emotion that takes me back to all those times I visited parks and sat on benches, not even attempting to disguise my mission by hiding behind a newspaper or a book. I can only imagine the raw hunger that must have been written on my face as I stared longingly at babies in prams and toddlers running around on sturdy legs.

I’d look at the crook of my arm and wonder what it was for if not to hold a baby. My breasts, which stirred men into a frenzy of lust at night, felt ornamental and frivolous during the day. What was the point of them if not to nourish a child? When I started having fantasies about walking past a pram, picking a baby up, and just carrying on walking, I knew it was time to stop going to parks to torture myself.

It’s funny how our dreams change over time, how lofty they are at the beginning and how quickly we’re prepared to lower our expectations when it becomes clear we’ve been aiming too high. I’d first dreamed of beautiful babies that looked like the perfect combination of me and whatever man I was with at the time: blue eyes, red hair, freckles; green eyes, blond hair, dimples. Now, all these years and disappointments later, this baby who looks nothing like me feels like an embarrassment of riches, too much to dare hope for.

The dog whines suddenly, pulling me from my reverie, and I’m grateful to have the distraction from old memories that should no longer have the power to wound. It’s sitting staring at us and I’m just wondering if it’s a boy or a girl (since my penis sensor apparently doesn’t extend to dogs) when it cocks its leg open and flashes me. She’s a girl. I laugh as she opens her leg even wider and starts licking herself.

“Quite the Jezebel, aren’t you?” And just like that, she’s named.