'Out of all my pregnancies, this is the biggest surprise'

'I call R at work: “Guess what? I’m pregnant.” I don’t go for a dramatic X Factor pause. The news is enough.'

Some things are planned, and others are not. The day after I book flights to go and see my parents in a few weeks' time, I?find out I am pregnant. I have never been a planner, but out of all my pregnancies, this is the biggest surprise. I call R at work: "Guess what? I'm pregnant."

I don't go for a dramatic X Factor pause. The news is enough.

"Oh. Oh God," he says.

"It's fine. Well, it's not. But I know what I want to do and I think we should talk."

I cry, mainly because it's all a bit of a shock.

"Oh, right."

Now the pauses come into play, and I can sense that R really doesn't know what I want to do.

"I don't want another baby," I say.

"I think you're right, darling, but let's be sure. I'm in the middle of the office and I want us to talk about this, but it's hard now. Can I call you later? I?love you," R says.

I go about my day like a very not-pregnant person, trying to pretend that I didn't see two blue lines instead of one on the pregnancy stick. But, of course, it is impossible. By the afternoon, with the children trying their best to distract me with their unfailing energy, I pick up the phone to?the doctor.

I am given a number. I call a central booking line and speak to an incredibly helpful woman. I can't quite believe how easy it all is, and I am truly grateful. I am even given date options, which I somehow feel I don't deserve. When I'm asked for my age, I feel ridiculous admitting that I am in my 30s, have three children already, and should probably know better.

I am booked in to a local clinic in a fortnight's time.

R hasn't yet called back, but if we need longer to decide I can cancel or rearrange. I pray the nausea won't kick in before then, as I really have no idea how pregnant I am (my periods are very?erratic).

I am cooking the children's supper, and look up from the hob and over to the calendar on the kitchen wall.

A very pleasing cross sits in a square, with the word HOLIDAY. I'm trying to work out a code word for TERMINATION so I can mark this on?too.

Just thinking about it makes me feel careless and irresponsible, but most of all sad. The holiday date beyond the abortion is something to look forward to though, a plan with a purpose of nothing else but fun and togetherness.

R will not come with us: I asked him last week, but he says it will be hard to find cover at work. Really, though, we have usually taken our holidays apart. Up until the last minute, R always remained noncommittal, so either my breaks away were very low-key, or built around the fact that he could change his mind: but he never did. So we went, and R stayed at home, alone.

I know the main reason I have been reluctant to make plans in the past has been fear: if I left R at home for more than a night, then everything would suddenly fall apart.

It comes as a minor dent to the ego to realise that even if R goes on the most gargantuan binge, he will probably be fine without me.

The last family holiday we went on?was five years ago and ended up with R booking himself back on the flight a week earlier than planned. I?stayed on with the children and he went home.

At the time he had been flitting from abstemious to binge-drinker, but he was still in denial about his alcoholism. It was a tense time. He was withdrawn, uptight and often angry. All of the things you should not be when away from the stresses and routine of everyday life and work.

I remember him distinctly saying, just before he left: "I'm causing everyone grief here, and I'd be better off just going so you can enjoy yourselves." I was livid, because I felt any vitriol from me would be unwarranted: he was thinking about us. The coming holiday without R will give me a chance to enjoy my children's company, and put the past few crazy, unsettled weeks to bed.

And it will provide a necessary distraction after the abortion: I am almost certain that another baby is not?what R and I want or need, but I'm?not so sure that we won't feel grief.?I can't help but think that if we were in a more stable relationship, another pregnancy would be something to celebrate.

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Tim Lott | Money – the biggest taboo in a relationship

Tim Lott: 'My wife says that my having more money than her makes me feel -powerful. She’s right – up to a point.'

This week I am going to write about the biggest taboo in relationships I know. Not sex, not death, not bodily functions. I'm going to write about money. Money in marriage is incendiary. It involves issues of power, feminism, patriarchy, trust and much besides. I have tried to write this column once before and had it flatly vetoed by my wife because she felt that?the ground I was treading on was too dangerous.

This column appears only after an emotional and sometimes painful back-and-forth about the subject. She accused me of sexism, while I suggested she was using double standards (I asked her, in her imagination, to switch the gender roles to see how it would look then).

My wife works as a part-time associate lecturer and, like many part-time workers, who are predominantly women, tends to be discriminated against in terms of financial reward and?employment opportunities. I, on the other hand, am reasonably well paid for challenging but not backbreaking work.

My wife does more of the childcare, cleaning and cooking than me. This is predominantly for practical reasons. She is physically at home for a lot more of the time than I am and, with a part-time career, she has more hours available. She also tackles all the laundry, having rejected my offers of participation in that area after I shrunk a cashmere sweater, pegged it out incorrectly and turned a dazzling white load grey.

I have somewhat more disposable income than my wife – because I earn significantly more than her. Although I cover a good deal of the family, holiday and household expenses, she doesn't feel this gap in resources is fair. But I am not quite sure what might make a better alternative. The idea that when you get married all your finances merge into one, strikes both of us as rather archaic. We both want to have our own money and bank accounts, rather than everything being in just one joint account.

The income inequalities also mean that if there's a big expense, like a foreign holiday or house improvements, I tend to have the last say. She feels that infantilises her, as she needs to "ask me". But we both recognise that in any circumstances where consensus is required – such as large expenditures – we need to ask each other anyway.

My wife says that my having more money than her makes me feel powerful. She's right – up to a point. It gives me an area of control, although I don't think I use it in order to control. I just think that some form of imbalance is inevitable.

When it comes to the house and children, my wife enjoys virtually total authority. She believes that she has earned that authority by putting the most effort into it. The power gravitates to her and she feels more comfortable with that arrangement.

Likewise, I believe there is bound to be a certain discrepancy over the amount of authority in financial matters so long as I generate most of the income. That is not to say I call all the shots or use the money to control my wife. I don't. There is just a discrepancy, and some measure of inequality in all marital arrangements is unavoidable. We get by.

I would say we have relatively few arguments about money. But it's tricky. There is a lot of counselling out there for emotional and familial difficulties in a relationship, whereas so far as I am aware there is very little practical advice on how to run family finances. And yet a number of studies identify disputes about money as causing more arguments in a relationship than any other issue.

Personally, I think the main solution is generosity of spirit and faith in the other person. I may be falling short in both these departments – in which case it isn't only the bank account that needs a top up. It's my trust fund.

‧ Follow Tim on Twitter @timlottwriter

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