Two months before we started talking about have a c***d of our own, I was 29 and he was 31. We both agreed the timing was right and I stopped taking ...he pill. In the two months leading up to this day, we had sex many times in many different positions and hadn't fallen pregnant yet. Then this specific thursday night arrived. He got home from work and found me in the kitchen. I was wearing an oldish casual dress. He greeted me with a passionate kiss lifting me onto the kitchen counter. Pulling. But it was the perfect idea. I would feign a desperate headache. Peter would get the kids sorted and bring me in the occasional tea, but he would probably even sleep on the fold out bed to give me the space I needed to heal. This was the answer. ‘Yes my baby. Mummy has a rather bad work headache.’ Thomas was looking at me with a puzzled sadness in his eyes, when he heard a key in the lock and in walked his father. ‘Daddy!’ Thomas yelled and threw himself at Peter. ‘Oh… hey there big guy. How. More

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