The day we first met.

I remember the build-up to that day. The 20-week scan. The moment we’d find out who we were waiting for. We’d always wanted to know. No dramatic reveals or surprise delivery room announcements—just the quiet excitement of knowing.

I’ve never been great with surprises. I love the idea of them, sure—but in practice? I do much better when I have the facts. Give me the details and I’ll relax. Leave me guessing, and my brain runs wild with what-ifs and maybes.

And then—there it was.

“You’re having a boy!” the nurse announced, waving her magic ultrasound wand like she was revealing my choice from an episode of ‘Blind dates’. And suddenly, he appeared. This little figure on the screen, floating in black and white, staring back at us.

There were no fireworks. No tears or dramatic gasps. Just soft smiles. A quiet sense of relief. Of hitting another milestone. Of everything looking healthy and okay.

But as I lay there, staring at this tiny, not-so-imaginary person on the screen, something shifted. It all felt very real. He was real. And in that moment, it felt like we’d officially been introduced. 

He wasn’t a size on a small piece of paper or number of weeks anymore. He was just a baby. He was a him. I could officially start to say ‘This is my son.’

The funny thing is, I’d always had a feeling it would be a boy. No logic to it. Maybe it was because my husband has a bunch of brothers. Maybe it was just my gut. I grew up in a house full of girls, so the thought of raising a boy felt like stepping into new territory. A kind of adventure I hadn’t prepared for.

And then came the swirl of questions:
What will he look like?
What will he love?
Will he be wild or gentle or both?
What will his laugh sound like?

And yes—what will I dress him in?

Not to sound shallow, but it’s a real thing we wonder. We grow up dressing dolls, playing “mum,” parading tiny versions of ourselves around in outfits that mirrored our own wardrobes. So naturally, part of preparing for a baby is picturing them—even if it’s just in the clothes they’ll wear. It's one of the little ways we start to imagine who they’ll be.

In all honesty as a woman - unless you have very specific life plans that map out what children and when, we all picture ourselves with girls. It’s just what we know. 

And then, when you're told you’re having a son, there’s this moment where your mind has to quietly shift—reworking the daydreams, letting go pink promises of your of your childhood and starting to picture someone entirely different. A little boy. A different rhythm, a different narrative.

You start to think, football, mess, rough play and chaos. All stereotypes drilled into our heads about what boys should be like. The mud, the noise, the life of a boy mum - starts to build a blockbuster movie in your head of what your life might look like from now on. Uneducated and irrational. Because I can safely say what I know now - is very very far from these thoughts. 

As I looked back up at him on that screen, a calm washed over me. A kind of quiet knowing. It felt like we’d always known each other. He lay there, curled up and content, completely at home—and somehow, so was I. 

It felt like a first date, but without the nerves or the need to impress. No masks, no performances. Just two souls finally introduced. It felt right. Natural. Like he’d always been mine and boy oh boy am I so glad we met.