THE AGE OF CONSENT
When I was pregnant with my first child I had a nightmare that after giving birth to him I wrapped him in newspaper, like a hefty serving of fish and chips, and left him in the backseat of the car while I went to visit friends. ‘What are you feeding him?’ my friends asked casually, at which point I realised he hadn’t been fed since I’d birthed him days earlier. I’m sure Freud would consider this textbook anxiety, given I had a mastectomy five years before falling pregnant with him,
