When I was four months pregnant I went into a panic. I realised that I was bringing another human being into the world that I would be responsible for clothing and feeding. Roxi and I could barely afford to clothe and feed ourselves. Granted, we would obviously stop drinking so much bubbly and we would no longer spend money on fun weekends away with our sprightly child-free friends. But still, the thought of school fees and swimming lessons and birthday presents and a house with more than one bedroom was enough to reduce me to a blithering wreck. That, and all the pregnancy hormones. And so in a hysterical flurry I emailed all my magazine contacts to find out if there was any work that I could do at night on a freelance basis that could help me supplement my income and buy three years’ worth of nappies.
And so it was that I was commissioned to write a weekly column for women.24.com on my experience of being pregnant and bringing a small child into the world. Which I did, happily, for two years. At which point I had the idea to write a book. Writing the columns and the mostly positive response I got to them, gave me the confidence to write a book about how we conceived Finn in the unconventional manner in which we did.
But I was also motivated by a number of other things. For a long time after Finn was born it felt like I was telling the same story over and over again. Everyone we met seemed hugely curious as to how two women could have arrived at having a baby. I got weary of telling the story again and again and had fantasies of simply being able to hand over a book and say, “If you’re interested, read this…”
But what really drove me to write down our story to the end was that I wanted to have a record for our children. I wanted them to know how we had arrived at the decision to conceive them in the way we did and I wanted their unique conception story to be preserved.
I did not think that the book would be published and, while I was writing it, I was not particularly concerned with this. I wrote the book, Making Finn, for my children. And I still hope that one day when they’re old enough they’ll read it and not just turn around and say, “Ah, mom. Do we have to talk about all that stuff again!”