We all know the myth of King Midas. The dude who had one wish; to be able to turn everything he touched into gold, it was only when he wanted to tuck into a nice sandwich and give his daughter a cuddle he saw the error of his ways.
Fairytales from across the world warn us against our wishes coming true.
When I was younger I fervently wanted a dog.
My Christmas wish-list would look like this:
A set of pens
A pair of pixie boots (well, it was the 80s)
Did I mention I wanted a dog?
When I was 13 my Grandpa gave me a puppy. The deal was he'd live with me during school holidays and my Grandad (who lived just two miles away) during the term time.
I absolutely adored that dog.
But, I wasn't a very good owner. I was rubbish at getting out of bed in the morning to take him for walks. I got bored trying to train him when he didn't pick up on my meaning straight away and I gave him a fucking ridiculous name (Buffle).
There is always a worry when you want something as much as a child that you are willing to spend years having medical treatment, spending your life savings on IVF and subjecting yourself to every speculum going that, when you finally achieve motherhood, you realise it isn't as wonderful as you imagined.
I'd worry, when pregnant, that I just might not be very good at it. That I might not enjoy it as much as my rose-tinted views of motherhood would have me believe.
Eight weeks in and I love every minute of it.
For anyone else wondering if all the treatment, injections and anguish is worth it. From this sample-size of one I can say it is.
Yes, there are moments in the early hours of the morning when she needs a feed that I have to drag myself into consciousness and wish that she'd lull herself back into sleep. But I find myself wanting to get up in the night more often than not. For a start if I haven't fed her for four hours not only do I find my boobs are aching, dying for a bit of milk release but also, I've missed her. She might be sleeping next to me in a moses basket but I've missed the physical contact and I am happy to scoop her up into a cuddle.
(And yes, I appreciate that I am lucky that she does, at 8 weeks, regularly sleep in four hour blocks. Which might be making the parenting easier than for some.)
And whilst motherhood is relentless - there is no clocking off at 5pm - it is also less pressured than many jobs I've done. It might take three days to answer a text message, but people understand this and I don't get hounded by emails chasing emails.
In short, I have absolutely no regrets in my wish. I am happier than I have been for years.
I also love the her name even more since I noticed Olive is an anagram of 'I love'.
(I'm glossing over the other anagram 'O, evil!' here.)
(I also have dog, and I'm a much better owner now. But he still has a fucking stupid name - Moon).