‘Good evening, sir, madam.  A table for two?’  The friendly waiter ushered us to a secluded table.

We settled in a corner of the dimly-lit restaurant, the table was covered with a white crepe paper tablecloth, a vase with a plastic orange chrysanthemum was placed on the table’s edge, and a tea-light, with a pin-point flame, lay between us.  We loved to eat out, especially in Italian restaurants and tonight we were in my favourite.

Leaning in towards the flame that separated us, I allowed a small grin to spread across my face, my eyes opened wide, ‘We did it.’ 

‘We did what?’ Greg’s left eyebrow rose and his fork hung in the air loaded with a piece of pink steak.

My hand reached for his.  ‘I’m pregnant!  I did the test before we left the house, and I’m pregnant.’  I bit the inside of my mouth, waiting for his response.

A cheeky grin spread across his face, ‘I guess you won’t be wanting any wine then?’ he said as he reached for the freshly opened bottle of Borolo.

Even before we had decided to get married Greg and I used to discuss how we would bring up children, using our own childhoods as reference.  We talked in restaurants about discipline: to smack or not to smack.  On holidays, over drinks, we would fire out lists of the names we liked: Ashley, Joshua, Katie and laugh about those that we did not.  We were fortunate; we agreed on most issues and, where we did not, we talked until we found a compromise.  We thought we had covered all the relevant big issues and felt confident that we would make great parents.  United in our beliefs and behaviours.  

Our first child was born a week late, in April 2005.  We were so excited by the imminent arrival of the baby – we had been told by the Sonographer that it was 99% certain that we were having a boy – everything was ready.  A blue Moses basket lay next to our bed with a blue, embroidered sheet covered by a hand-knitted, blue blanket boasting a white teddy bear.  The baby’s blue clothes were washed and neatly folded away, except for the special item reserved for the hospital bag: a pair of striped, blue and white trousers, a white bodysuit and an extremely soft, hand-knitted, white jumper with duck buttons running down the neck line.