"I'm having another baby and I'd just love it to be a boy!" I said.
I am already the proud owner of one well-balanced, non-climbing, sweet, attentive and 100% in-love-with-his-mummy boy. So for my second child, I'd like another please. Oh it's for practical reasons (I convinced myself). They'll be great friends and I won't have to buy new clothes and toys. A boy it is then. Sorted.
I didn't want to admit I was scared. That a girl would challenge my place as number one princess in this house of men. That she would question me, manipulate me, and worst of all, be much better dressed than me.
I'm a tomboy you see, a real Daddy's girl, much more at home drinking beer and watching sport than I am painting nails and decorating bedrooms. What could I possibly have to offer a girl? I can't teach her about fashion or wearing pink. I'd only embarrass her in front of her friends. She'd probably disown me as soon as she could talk.
And then I had one. Shit, it's a girl (and I said it aloud, to my husband and the midwife). But we haven't even got a name, I thought. And then I started to really think about it. A girl. What do I want her to be?
And I realised I wasn't scared, I was excited. I will bring her up to be brave. She'll be passionate, strong-willed, have a zest for life. I'll teach her to not to judge, treat everyone the same and never ever be bettered by men. This is my big chance, not just to be a supportive mum but also a great friend.
I'm still afraid of how she'll turn out and if she'll love me forever. I'm not afraid to admit that I still feel threatened by her very existence and I doubt I'm alone – am I?
But I'm happier than I've ever been. I'm addicted to her clothes and have embraced pink. I shower her with kisses. I even rented Beauty and the Beast. Because of all the Disney princesses, I want her to be Belle.
And I named her Eve, because she's my first lady.