I reach for my dressing gown that I keep on the other side of the bed. It’s no substitute for a husband, but at least it’s something to wrap around my body when I wake up in the morning. My dressing gown is one of the few things I adore. It’s a 1970s terry-towelling, full-length, high-necked, long-sleeved Victorian-looking thing that hides almost every inch of my body other than my face and neck. I spent ages looking for the perfect one, nothing modern had the same coverage. It means I can answer the door before I get dressed, should someone come knocking. I often wonder who the woman who owned it before me was, as it came with certain signs of wear and tear. Did she also feel the need to hide herself in her own home? Did she have children who loved her? Did she live a life of self-inflicted solitude? Liam hated this dressing gown, but I saw it as my only option after what he did to me on our wedding day.

Getting Bonnie dressed every morning is on a par with being in one of those shark cages, and the shark getting into it with you. She kicks me directly in the chest and stomach. She’s bitten me a number of times. She tries to get away, and I have to pull her back and hope to God I don’t dislocate a shoulder or hip.

I love her, of course. But I don’t love parenting. People tell you not to wish it away. They say I’ll miss her being small. I won’t. I will never miss this. Living with a toddler is like living with someone with a complete lack of empathy. Something I swore I wouldn’t do again, when I moved out of home, and moved away from my mother.

Monday mornings are always the hardest, especially after she has spent the weekend with her dad. Liam doesn’t bother with the boring stuff. He lets her eat what she wants, he lets her stay up late watching TV until she falls asleep. He doesn’t bother bathing her or brushing her teeth. Which means that when Bonnie comes back to me she is sticky to the touch, with a yellow smile and dreadlocks in her hair. I am the one who then has to force her into the bath. The one who has to brush out the knots. The one who has to scrape the fur from her teeth. The one who ruins the fun.