I headed for the door, nodding a few hellos along the way, downed the wine and dropped my plastic cup in the bin on the way out. What the hell was wrong with me? Could I not make it through a standard social evening without imploding? One encounter with a Hot Dad and I was simpering about wanting to see him naked. I was acting like a highly-sexed desperado. It’s not like I was deprived. Or was I? I tried to think of the last time Will and I had sex. It couldn’t have been that long ago. There was that time last week. Or was it last month? I had a vague recollection of Will murmuring a post-coital ‘I think we’ve got time for one more’ and the relief when I realised he meant another episode of Game of Thrones.

I just needed some perspective. Yes, I had embarrassed myself in front of a fellow parent at Gigi’s nursery by implying I wanted to see him naked. But chances were I wouldn’t see him again.

Apart from potentially every drop-off and pick-up.

And then just at any school event.

I thought back to the detailed school calendar we had been sent. There was an upcoming harvest festival, a Halloween party, fireworks night, nativity play, Easter bonnet parade, spring bake sale, summer concert, sports day.

How did a two-year-old have such a packed social schedule? And why couldn’t I at least wait until the end of the school year to make a tit of myself?

Why did parenting never get easier?

Will and I had celebrated when we survived the first year: the constant waking in the night, teething, explosive nappies. And just when I felt like I was finally finding my way, a new set of challenges were catapulted at me: fussy eating, tantrumming, potty-training. Now it seemed biting was part of the repertoire too. And if all that wasn’t enough, always in the background was the fear that I was screwing this up. Screwing her up.

Will always did what came naturally to him. Didn’t overthink things. She worshipped him; whether it was being chased squealing round the house by the Tickle Monster, to weekday afternoons spent in the park, just the two of them, hunting conkers and holding hands. He’d sneak away early from the office, citing a meeting, and I’d come home to find them out there, kicking leaves and eating ice cream, no matter the weather. I’d ask ‘Aren’t you worried you’ll get in trouble?’ and he’d shrug and say, ‘Fuck ’em. I missed her.’ He adored her and knowing that he was her father, that he therefore knew what was best for her, gave him all the confidence he needed.