Page 115 of Insidious

We grin at each other. Isaac lowers his voice. “The rash on her bum looks much better.”

“It does.”

We’ve both spent an embarrassing amount of time inspecting it over the last week.

“The banana was a mistake, though.”

I groan immediately.

“Oh, God. The poop stank …”

Isaac starts giggling.

“One spoonful is all I gave her. One tiny spoonful.”

“The nappy didn’t stand a chance. Did you see the way it rode up all the way into her hair??”

“It was basically a bioweapon going off. Apocalypse situation.”

We both dissolve into laughter. Then I shake my head.

“Do you realise how obsessed we’ve become with things coming out of her body?”

Isaac looks thoughtful.

“We discuss her bowel movements daily, don’t we? What is happening to us?” He groans.

“And her farts. Don’t forget her farts …”

“The farts are genuinely impressive.”

“We celebrate normal poops and analyse abnormal poops.”

“We compare poops. This is the story of our lives.”

There’s a horrified pause, then we both start laughing again.

“Oh my god,” I say. “This is who we are now.”

Isaac raises his glass.

“To Amelie.”

“To Amelie.”

He clinks his glass against mine.

“The tiny human whose bodily functions now dominate 80 percent of our conversations.”

And neither of us is embarrassed about it. We just feel blessed to have her and this.

When my dessert of strawberry pavlova is placed in front of me, Isaac slides into the booth beside me. Close enough that our thighs stay pressed together beneath the table.

“So, you can take bites of mine,” he explains while sliding his sticky toffee pudding closer.

Every time he shifts, his arm brushes lightly against the side of my breast. It is just enough that I become hyperaware of everything about him. He smells like his citrusy aftershave, and I can’t help but turn to take a whiff of his neck.

Everything about him feels perfect today. His warmth, the solid weight of his thigh against mine, the clean smell of soap and cologne every time he leans closer to steal a bite from my plate.