WARNING: This post contains gender stereotyping on a grand scale.

I never had any doubt about wanting children. As a little girl I would cradle my freakishly life-like porcelain doll, rock her to sleep and imagine one day being a Mum.

I’ve always been a massive girly girl. My Barbie collection was epic. Not only did I have the entire Barbie and the Rockers get-up (all band members plus stage, tour bus and instruments), I had Hawaiian Barbie, Ken and Skipper along with a custom Barbie beach buggie and a random Barbie horse on wheels. Despite being mildly pigeon-toed, I donned a pink leotard for ballet classes and stored my enviable hair accessories collection in a tin covered in Rainbow Brite and Strawberry Shortcake stickers.

So it’s no surprise that in all of my imaginings, I would one day have a daughter who loved My Little Ponys and shared my ethos of ‘more is more’ when it comes to tulle, bows and sequins.

When I met Lachlan my desire for kids grew even stronger. It was only when I saw him rough-housing his nephew that I started to think how great it would be for us to have a son. You see my husband is half-bogan – he loves footy, car-racing, Melbourne Bitter longnecks and is disturbingly attached to his Bintang singlet and knee high custom made ugg boots. Yes I know some girls love camping out on the hill at Bathurst and happily deliver their AGB in toilet blocks that smell like fermented meat-heavy faeces but if a girl had half my DNA, her penchant for UDLs, arm tatts and polyester would be severely compromised.

So my new baby dream was to have the perfect pigeon pair – a boy that could help Lachlan wax his 1964 EH Holden, and a girl that I could hit the Boxing Day sales with.

We were half way there when I delivered our gorgeous little Moo in January 2013. When he arrived in all of his magnificent, howling glory, we were overjoyed. As the months rolled on I discovered that I loved being a ‘boy mama’ – Moo’s increasingly adventurous and fearless spirit entertained me more and more every day and the clothing selection on offer was surprisingly cute and varied. He became my little mischievous prince with the most affectionate and loving nature.

In late 2013 we got the shock of our lives when I found out I was expecting again. Lach was convinced we were having a little girl but I was 75% sure from day dot that another little mister was on the way. At our 20-week ultrasound my intuition was confirmed. Was there a feeling of disappointment when the technician pointed to a doodle? Yes, but it had nothing to do with not wanting another little boy and everything to do with mourning the daughter we will never have.

I gave myself a few hours to let her go and face those feelings that we are never allowed to admit to for fear of being labeled unappreciative. I thought about the ballet lessons I will never take her to, the curls I will never brush and braid and the wedding dress I will never help her pick. Then, after saying goodbye to my little ‘Eva’ (she was going to be named after my maternal grandmother), I focused on the beautiful little soul in my belly and I started to feel excited about all the adventures we would face together.

I also thought about how lucky we are to have conceived two magnificent boys naturally despite being given only a 5-10% chance. I thought about all the people struggling to conceive and all the women who desperately want children but whose life stories have veered in a different direction. And I thought of all the joy my Moo had brought me over the previous year and a bit.

When Hughie arrived on 29 July, I couldn’t imagine wanting anything other than another little man to love. Every week a stranger or a friend says, “You’ll have to have a third, go for the girl!” and I smile and say, “No, we are done. I am incredibly happy with my two boys.” And I mean it.