‘Are you taking a present?’ Zeta asks.

‘Yeh, I’ve made some cupcakes. Not just any old cupcakes: they are vulva-themed and nappy-themed.’

I show Zeta the cupcakes, loaded with pink icing on the top with a slit down the middle with lips and a clitoris. I have also made a few that have icing on top resembling a soiled nappy, with realistic-looking chocolate for the poo coming out of a white iced nappy.

‘They are disgusting,’ Zeta screams, laughing.

I can’t wait to take them to the party.

I struggle to carry multiple bags onto the Tube because of all the cake tins, so – with a pang of guilt – I get the ‘Baby on Board’ badge out of my bag again, to ensure that I definitely get a seat. It’s only fair to sample the travel benefits of pregnancy every now and again. Maybe. I spot a few people walking ahead of me as I get out at Barons Court Tube station. I know they’re on their way to Cec’s party because they look a bit posh. A man in chinos and loafers is carrying a huge card that reads: ‘Congrats on your new baby, don’t drop it!!!’ There’s also a woman wearing a fascinator (what?), and a yummy mummy (said with an ironic tone) with a big yoga bag and a bunch of flowers who’s shouting at her son ‘Horace’, calling him to hurry up. Oh god, this whole thing is going to be hell.

At Cec’s, I hang up my coat, shaking out the rain. I slide into the kitchen wearing a red satin jumpsuit and slippery socks. The kitchen has been taken over by gold balloons that spell out ‘OSCAR’. Cecily’s dad, Todd, makes a comment as I enter the kitchen that I ‘look like Father Christmas!’, which I try my hardest to take as a compliment.

‘What have you brought in those huge bags?’ Todd asks me, peering over his glasses.

‘Oh! Some cakes!’

‘Let’s have a look.’

‘I can’t really open the lid right now, Todd, they might topple over.’

‘Come on, let’s see! I do love to see what you girls get up to in the kitchen.’ I subtly shudder and try to ignore the casual sexism.

‘Here.’ I get out one of the plastic tubs.

‘Are they …?’

‘Yes! They are, Todd.’

Todd nearly falls over backwards.

‘Vaginas!’

He splutters at me before excusing himself to go and find his wife.

I am suddenly quite hot from the awkwardness. I place them down in the centre of the kitchen island. I look around at a sea of bald men in blazers and middle-aged women in kitten heels. I know no one. Where are Bea and Isla? I can see Cecily through the kitchen crowd, laughing and mingling with family friends of all ages. She’s wearing a long black sequined dress with a small slit up the side. And there is a chorus of ‘Don’t you look good?’/‘Wow, you’ve lost so much weight already’/‘Where is your dress from?’/‘You’ve snapped back’ echoing around her. It’s true, she looks great. Cec’s husband, Chris, is holding Oscar against his chest with a muslin cloth over his shoulder.