I try on a few pairs of my pre-pregnancy trousers. None of them fit, which is OK, I haven’t even tried to shift the weight yet so there is no point getting upset about it until I do. I try on a black pencil skirt, but it won’t get past my bottom. I try on a few of my favourite dresses, but none of them do up. I then remember a black body-con dress that I bought online around three years ago but have never worn. I’m not sure what mood I was in when I decided to get it, because it really isn’t my style. It only fits now because it is ninety-eight per cent elastane, but who cares, it’s on. I put on some three-and-a-half-inch stilettos that I haven’t worn in around ten years and totter downstairs. Michael is wearing a grey t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans with trainers.

‘My goodness,’ Janet breathes. ‘Is that the underwear that’s supposed to make you look thin?’

‘No, it’s a dress,’ I tell her.

‘Well have you got any of the underwear that makes you look thin?’

I ignore that.

‘OK, so you don’t need to bath him. At six fifty take him up, put him in his sleeping bag, give him the bottle and lay him down. The white noise is already on. If he wakes up before we come home please don’t bring him out of his room or give him more milk. Just rub his belly to soothe him if he gets really upset.’

‘So cruel,’ Janet says, putting her empty cup on the table. ‘Poor baby.’

‘Pardon?’ I ask gently, as Michael ducks into the kitchen. He hates it when his mother and I are in the same room. He thinks I will cause problems.

‘All this leaving the babies to cry, it’s so cruel. If a baby cries, you cuddle them. Those terrible parenting books telling mothers to neglect their children.’

‘It’s important to have a schedule. And of course we cuddle him, but we also want him to sleep well and not be afraid of being alone,’ I say. I don’t want to talk about parenting with Janet. ‘Michael, shall we go?’

As he comes out of the kitchen, I hold my tummy in and stand up straight. I am waiting for a compliment.

‘You’ll be cold,’ is all I get, and he passes me my ugliest and biggest coat from the cupboard. I swap it for a black leather jacket, which I regret instantly but pretend to wear with pride. I look like Kim Kardashian’s horny aunt. Although I am sure she would at least have had a manicure.