It was lunchtime on 13 February, and Dustin and I were about to do our midday baby handoff. I had been working in a coffee shop and he’d spent the morning at the park with the baby; now it was my turn to take over. The next day would be our first Valentine’s Day together as parents, a fact to which I’d been assigning increasing – and arbitrary – meaning. Would I get it together and write a love letter, bake a cake, make a print of the baby’s feet inside a heart and prove to myself and whoever followed me on Instagram that Dustin and I were still as in love as ever? On Valentine’s Days past, there’d been pipe cleaner hearts, love notes written with shower crayons bought special for the occasion, junk store postcards tucked into the perfect book (Eileen Myles, Mavis Gallant, Colette). There was the year he hid each individual chocolate from a box in a different place around our small apartment; months later, I’d be looking for a cough drop or a cigarette and laugh out loud when I found one. If I could pull something like that off, then I’d know things were… Read full this story
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After giving birth to my first child, I wondered: would I ever want sex again? have 293 words, post on www.theguardian.com at April 12, 2018. This is cached page on Europe Breaking News. If you want remove this page, please contact us.