Of course, I loved my two sons. Still do, even though they’re both now bald and getting on for 60, but daughters are extra special.
When I was pregnant with Louise in 1966, ultrasounds were not yet in general use so I was prepared for a third son or a daughter. As babies, the boys had slept in carrycots until they were old enough for a proper cot but one of the craft workers, who made wicker rattles and balls for our John Dobbie toyshop, made me a gorgeous wicker cradle. I spent ages lining and trimming it with a delicate pale turquoise checked fabric – the colour would do for either sex.
My labour started in the small hours and Josh took me and the boys – then six and four – to the nursing home. I hadn’t been able to book in to have another baby at the hospital where I qualified, as I was outside their catchment area and it was a normal pregnancy. The local maternity hospital was fully booked around the time I was due.
The boys were complaining that they were hungry when Josh left me tucked into a pleasant room with a lovely coal fire. He decided to take them to Covent Garden, then still a busy Fruit, Vegetable and Flower Market, and where there were cafes open all-night for the market porters.
Josh ordered sandwiches and hot milk for the boys. The counter assistant poured hot water over a couple of teaspoons.
‘Better to sterilise them for the little boys,’ she said.
Louise finally made her appearance in the evening after Josh had been up to see me and then taken the boys home to bed. It was love at first sight with this adorable little 6½ pound dark-haired little scrap. I’d fed the boys myself and she was as easy as they had been.
The only trouble was that I’d not eaten all day in case a problem would have arisen and I’d needed an emergency C-section. I was starving. I asked the nurse for something to eat but, believe it or not, being a private facility, the senior nurse had locked the fridges and food stores when she left at night. Luckily I was so tired that I fell asleep.
It was a nice comfortable room with pleasant friendly nurses but a bit slap-dash. On the few days I stayed there, after dinner I tucked my little one under the bedclothes with just her nose out so she could breathe. To my delight the nurses forgot to take her to the nursery. When she cried I fed her and she soon went back to sleep. Bliss.
I loved dressing her in pretty clothes and now she chooses pretty things for her daughter – and for me.
We mothers of daughters are the luckiest in the world.
Many thanks to those who wrote to say they enjoyed reading my memoir ‘Woman in a White Coat’. Have finally started on the sequel.
‘Woman in White Coat – the memoir of girl growing up the East End making good.
Buy it on Kindle at £2.99 or as a paperback on Amazon at £9.99