One particular primary school song seems to have stuck in my head.
Almost two decades on, I still hum the tune when I hear the words.
“First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes baby in the baby carriage.”
Funnily enough, it appears that I have been sticking to this timeline of events since I started writing.
I have written about the difficulties in finding love in Devon, where the quantity of available men is about as sparse as that of the vegetation on Dartmoor. I have even dabbled in the idea of weddings; exploring the difficulties of being at an age where it appears that every woman, man and his dog is walking down the aisle to Pachelbel’s Canon in D.
One area that I have shied away from however, is that of babies. Anyone that knows me will tell you that from a young age, becoming a mother has been of huge importance to me. I am not on the fence in any shape or form when it comes to what I want. I want children, lots of them, and that is that. I probably should not admit it, but I would be lying if I said that I hadn’t already chosen a fair few names for the little unborn tinkers.
I personally believe that there is nothing more special than meeting the one person you want to spend the rest of your life with and then creating an actual person that is exactly half of each of you; what an incredible accomplishment that is.
It appears that I am not the only one with babies on the mind.
Baby talk seems to be here there and everywhere at the moment.
Firstly, there is Charlotte. Her Royal Highness Charlotte Elizabeth Diana of Cambridge to be precise. Who knew that the arrival of one more human being into the world could cause such uproar? I mean, even Tower Bridge glowed pink in acknowledgement of the birth of the baby Princess.
Then there is the incredible transformation I have seen in my old university housemate. I have never seen such an astonishing change. It is as though motherhood literally glows out of her like beams of sunshine. Similarly to me, she too has been poorly, so her successes give me hope that one day I too could be part of my own little happy family.
And finally there is the letter that arrived in the post just last week. After waiting tentatively for almost a year, I finally received the news that the NHS will not be funding the collection of my eggs. While I can completely understand their decision, it has made me yet more determined to go for it alone (with a little help from a male component of course).
Recently I have started to feel like myself again. This truly is the first time since my illness that I have a little bit of my sparkle back. And so, with that in mind, it seems a shame to waste this sparkle. It seems a waste to not look to the future and hope that it will not be too long until I have my own love, marriage and baby in a carriage.