A little while ago I posted about my own mental load in a mums' group, just an honest list of what was in my head on an average Tuesday. People couldn't get through it. A third of the way down, they tapped out. It told me more than any statistic could have: mothers haven't stopped caring about each other, but many of us are running on empty at exactly the same time.

Nobody warns you about this bit. You spend months, sometimes years, imagining what motherhood is going to feel like. Then it arrives, and somewhere between the sleep deprivation and the fortieth nappy of the day, you have a thought so quiet and so terrifying you barely let yourself finish it. I don't think I actually like this.