Chapter Five
The Hospital
The mothering instincts are not always immediate.
The day after my daughter was born, I woke to the sound of a clattering trolley, hoovering under the bed, and a crying baby. I eased myself up and stared at the row of babies in the corridor lined up in Perspex bassinets.
“Is that mine crying?” I muttered.
The young mother across from me looked up from her phone. “Nah, the nurse will soon let you know.”
I flopped back onto my pillow with a sigh. God, I ached. I thought about the toilet and gingerly shifted . . .
I had wanted Steven’s baby from the first moment I woke to his sweet face . . . I just assumed that ten years of belly dancing would make the whole thing as easy as slipping off a sock.
Easy—it took hours.
My muscles felt like they had been stretch
