He likes to tell me how tired he is before we get into bed together. It is Stage One in his sequence of excuses for getting away with no sex, and it happens every night. But maybe tonight he is horny? Maybe tonight will be different. Maybe he is trying to make this better too.

In the bedroom I get into bed, naked. He puts on his pyjamas after taking an unnecessary amount of time cleaning his teeth, probably in the hope that I will fall asleep.

Apparently a marriage is considered sexless when the couple do it less than ten times a year. We haven’t done it since I was four months pregnant. Tommy is now four months old. I realise that birth is a good excuse for both of us not to want it, but I’m not giving birth anymore. It’s time. The ice needs to be broken soon, and Michael knows it.

He gets into bed and immediately fluffs up his pillows and reaches for the parenting book he is reading. ‘I’m going to read up on weaning onto formula, I think we should start,’ he says, licking his finger and flicking through the pages until he finds the right bit.

‘No, I’m not ready. You know that.’

‘OK, well, it won’t hurt to read up on it,’ he says, pretending to read.

I shimmy closer to him.

‘You’re naked,’ he says, as if that is as surprising as me wearing a clown costume.

‘Yes, you like it?’ I hold the covers up so he can see.

He glances quickly, before adding, ‘Careful you don’t leak on the sheets.’

‘Leak out of what?’ I say, trying to have a little fun.

‘Don’t be …’ he starts.

‘Gross?’

‘No, I didn’t say that. Don’t be … oh it doesn’t matter. So, it says here we should mix breast milk with formula and introduce him to it that way. What do you think?’

‘I can’t have this conversation again. No,’ I say, taking the book out of his hand and throwing it onto the floor. He remains in the same position, as if the book hasn’t gone anywhere. I pull myself up on top of him. He is faced with my breasts. Full enough of milk to look fantastic, not full enough to squirt in his face. I fed Tommy before he went to bed; I’ll be doing a feed at eleven p.m. It is the perfect time for sex. ‘I miss you,’ I whisper seductively.

‘You miss me? What are you talking about, I see you every morning and every night.’