You may recall the exact night of conception. It was the night after I came over to yours all dressed to the nines in my satin blouse and my high heels, the night we drank two bottles of red wine and had sex three times. I’d thought it would be a long-term project. I had more plastic pots waiting in the freezer, let’s put it that way. But it turned out I didn’t need them. I’d been charting Ellie’s ovulation for a couple of months, making sure to dole out the pads and tampons on a day-by-day basis so I’d know exactly when she was bleeding and how much. And I hit the jackpot first time. I stood
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