I've never been considered the maternal type.

This perhaps goes back to my kindergarten days. My mother tells the story of when I was chosen to be Mary in the kinder nativity play. I had to come in with Joseph holding the baby Jesus (a doll) and place him in the manger. Apparently I shoved him in roughly, so that his legs stuck up and he looked very awkward. One of the other mothers commented drily, "Well, she's not very maternal, is she?"

I was never interested in dolls. I liked to climb trees. Ride bikes. Go to Little Athletics. Read books. Play with my chemistry set. I thought dolls were silly, and couldn't see any value in pushing one around in a pram, or trying to feed it. I remember in the 70s (when I was a child) a doll called Baby Alive came out - you could feed it and it even wet its pants. All the girls I knew simply HAD to have one. I secretly thought it was rather disgusting. I mean, changing a doll's nappy? Eeeeww.

When my sisters had children in their twenties, I reacted rather as Samantha in 'Sex and the City' did, when Charlotte announced she was trying to get pregnant. "Why?" I asked, genuinely baffled. I was working hard on my music career, travelling, having fun, living life. There was no way I wanted to have children then. No way.

And now I'm 42 and about to give birth to my boy. I worry all the time about how I'll manage, how good a mother I'll be. Have I learned the lessons of life to make me patient enough, giving enough, kind enough? Will I know what to do for my child? Will I be there when he needs me? Will I have what it takes?

Time and experience will tell, I guess - and I certainly have those on my side!