‘But I like furry things,’ she says, confused as to why I wouldn’t. ‘And you’re furry.’

I freeze. So she did notice it before she was sick on me. I wait for her to say something else, something cruel, but her focus is entirely on the mouse.

I grab the bucket and put it in the corner of the kitchen.

‘Come on, Bonnie. Let’s get out of here,’ I say. ‘The mouse will never go in if we are standing near it.’

Together we rebuild the barricade, and then head back to the TV.

Lauren Pearce – Instagram post

@OfficialLP

The image is of Lauren cuddling a little dog. She is on a sofa laughing, as if the dog is tickling her. Both physically and figuratively. It is unclear who is taking the photo.

The caption reads:

Being mummy to this guy is everything. How is it possible to love something this small so much? As long as I’ve got this guy, everything will be OK … who is feeling me with the #petlove #selflove #selfcare #dogsofinstagram #womensupportingwomen #LOVE #happiness #happy #AD #CuteyCollars

@heliumhater: That dog looks like a pair of slippers.

@didshereallydoit: Ahhh, he’s so cute. I love how much you love him. You’ll be an amazing Mummy one day

@flippeditthreetimes: More posts with Gavin more posts with Gavin

@soletrader: have you had your tits done?

@queerearforthehateguy: do you actually work?

@helenofOhBoy: YOUR LIFE IS PERFECT

Beth

There is no better feeling than my baby’s actual lips on my nipples. Pumping is exhausting and makes me feel like a milk machine, but I have to keep it going. I don’t always have time for these moments.

When I get home from work I give Tommy his last feed before bed; my body feels relieved and my boobs are gloriously empty. It’s a feeling no pump can achieve. The endorphin rush of being where I am supposed to be makes me emotional, but I bank it. There is no need to be upset, I’ll get my time with Tommy when this job is done. Until then, I won’t complain about the night feeds, I’ll cherish them. Adrenalin is keeping me going. I actually feel pretty good about everything, other than my husband finding me repulsive, of course.

‘So how was your day?’ I ask Michael, as I come back down and into the kitchen. I have my dressing gown on, and I slipped on a nice bra and some pretty knickers but he doesn’t know about them yet. They are cutting into me a little, but I think I still look hot enough. I hadn’t realised he was on the phone; he puts his finger over his mouth as if to tell me to ‘shhh’.