Growing up surrounded by brothers, fabulous as they were and are, there was a part of me that longed for a sister.
When the realisation finally dawned that after having 5 brothers arrive, that was not in fact going to happen, the dream subsided.
With our eldest child we knew early on we were having a boy. I was thrilled. I knew boys. I spoke boy. Boys were familiar territory to me. From nappies to tantrums, it didn't phase me a bit.
When we discovered I was pregnant again, I didn't want to know the sex of our baby at all. The longing for a girl had returned tenfold. I knew of course the minute they arrived, their gender would be immaterial, I'd love them to pieces. But there was a part of me that was wishing, wishing, wishing for a girl.
When she arrived I remember hearing her cry and asking eagerly: "What is it? What is it?" and the rather harried reply of my obstetrician: "We're still getting her out Sarah, hold on!"
I was always a bit impatient.
As it was the obstetrician didn't need to tell me. The minute they passed her to me it was all pretty clear.
To my husband I cried: "We made a girl!"
I said the same thing to the nurses in recovery, and repeated it again to my parents as they took us back to the ward.
We had made a girl.
A girl who six years later is my moonbeam.
A little girl who walks on her tippy toes everywhere we go.
A little girl who loves everything to be pink, purple and sparkly.
A little girl who loves to read and write and draw.
A little girl who sobs brokenheartedly if she doesn't get her way.
And we made her.
I couldn't love her more.
Happy birthday my darling.