So, right now, as she stood in the kitchen with the second bottle of wine in hand, she really shouldn’t be feeling irritated with him. Because he was only being sensible when he suggested they not open the second bottle of wine.

But at the same time, he hadn’t had to give up drinking for nine months’ worth of pregnancy. She was just playing catch-up. That first sip of wine had felt like coming home. Ha. She was kidding. She wasn’t that bad. She just didn’t realise how much she’d missed the taste, the comfort, the warmth. The way her whole body began to relax with each mouthful. Her jaw would unclench and the tension in her neck would release and her shoulders would drop, and it felt like everything else clicked into place from there. She’d imagine her spine slotting into place, one piece of Lego on top of the other. Click, click, click, click. Her hips would loosen. The warmth would spread down her thighs, circle around her calves, all the way to her feet until she felt her toes uncurl. Who wouldn’t want to sustain that experience?

Plus, just a few weeks ago, Pete had come home after taking Callie out for one of her driving lessons and downed five Bacardis in a row. Callie was actually quite a good driver, but apparently she’d somehow missed a stop sign and had consequently taken ten years off Pete’s life. And that had been a Wednesday night. Back before the twins, they used to try to restrict their drinking to weekends only. But throughout the past year, Pete had proclaimed that ‘helping Tara with her homework’ or ‘taking Callie out for driving lessons’ were exceptions to the no mid-week drinks rule.

Hence, Mimi’s irritation at him now judging her for wanting to open another bottle on a Friday night. She forced herself to shrug it off and put the bottle of sav blanc back in the fridge. ‘Fair call.’

‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to be a buzz kill.’

She must have sounded more disappointed than she’d meant to.

‘Nah, you’re right. I’m all good. Meant to tell you your mum dropped by this morning while you were out.’

Pete had been out most of the day for a meeting with their literary agent followed by lunch with their publishers. Usually Mimi would join him for those, but someone had to be home with the twins and it made more sense for the writer to be in the meetings than the illustrator.

‘Oh yeah? How was she?’ he asked.

‘Seemed fine. Still determined about Christmas, so it looks like we’re definitely going ahead with the usual plans. She was more concerned with how I was. I think sometimes she forgets that you work from home and you’re usually here with the twins. I could tell she was probing, trying to see if I’m coping.’