On the way home with the shopping, I walk past a little toy shop. I’m generally extremely conservative about the toys I have in the house for Bonnie. I can’t bear it when you walk into homes and wonder if any adults live there at all because of the grotesque amount of child paraphernalia that litters their living space. Bonnie has all the essentials. Lego, books, a small art station, cuddly teddies and a neat kitchen that Liam put together for her at my request. He’s good like that. Very handy. I was upset though, when Bonnie saw it. It was me who had paid for it and researched the perfect one that would suit her need for fun and my need for order. The assembly was going to take hours and so Liam offered to take on the task. When it was done, looking fantastic in the far corner of the living room, Bonnie was thrilled. She hugged her father and thanked him.

‘It was Mummy’s idea,’ he said, realising Bonnie was excluding me from her overt display of gratitude. ‘Go give Mummy a hug and say thank you.’

But she didn’t and wouldn’t, because at two years old she had no care for the importance of ideas or financial transactions. All she saw was her dad huffing and puffing and working to create a toy that she loved. As far as she was concerned, I had nothing to do with it.

Inside the toy shop, there is a large cuddly mouse. I don’t like it. Even a toy rodent gives me the shivers. But rather than deny my child any more joy off the back of my illogical fears, I pick it up and pay for it. At home, I put it on the kitchen table. Then on the sofa. Then on the coffee table. Nowhere feels right, or exciting enough. Eventually, I put it in her bed. The cuddly mouse tucked under the duvet, its horrible head resting on the pillow. I decide that is the most fun place for Bonnie to discover him.

After a spinning session on my bike, I shower and pluck my face. The body hair is the worst it could be at the moment. I have a wax appointment booked at a new salon next week, and it can’t come soon enough. I’m nervous about what the technician will be like, but I’m desperate. There is no way I am turning up to Lauren Pearce’s wedding looking like this. I got very hot on my bike, and despite having a fan aiming directly at me, it was a struggle. I cut the forty-five-minute class by fifteen minutes and had a simple dinner of green vegetables and prawns to make up for it, before continuing my work on the images of Lauren.