I open my mouth to tell her that if I’m the one battling morning sickness, sore tits and heartburn, going through the trauma of labour and having to be sewn back together afterwards, I would not crown my baby with the father’s name simply because it is the done thing. To tell her that other than sperm, a man contributes nothing to the growth and birth of a child. To tell her that if it comes out of my body, it’s getting my fucking name.
