If I’m ever going to be a mum, I want to be just like mine. I say ‘if’ because currently, when the people I work with bring their kids in, I recoil away from the dribbly mouths and clammy hands until these pudgy bundles reach an age where I’m less likely to break them (around seven months old when they actually start doing stuff themselves). Everyone jokes that I’ll reach 70 and still be terrified of babies, with none of my own.

I think it’s the only child in me that makes me intolerant of other people’s children, and I’m sure that with my own I’d be the mumsiest mum (passing the finger-painting round my friends over coffee, insisting that a red splodge is the Eiffel tower) but being the baby of the family I’ve never actually had to deal with anyone younger. I am the one and only as far as my Mum’s concerned and I like that.

I know what you’re thinking (especially those reading this who’re one of six): spoiled. I would have to disagree. Since my parents got divorced when I was four my Mum’s brought me up single-handedly. Things weren’t easy financially, and I remember us wandering around Safeway trying to work out how many meals we could afford that week. When I was 10, something amazing happened: after years of doing supply teaching Mum got a permanent job. She went from value tins of soup to being other people’s boss. Even now - nine years later - when she goes ‘here’s money in case you need anything’ I still can’t quite believe our luck has changed.

The best thing about Mum, though, is that she’s my friend. I like her as a person, not just cause we’re related. Now that I’m grown up we’ll meet for dinner (usually always on her) and if I want to bitch about something that’s happened she’ll unreservedly join in.

And even though I’m terrified of babies, she’ll still treat me like one if I want her to. Last weekend when I went home I had some sort of stress-induced flu, Nurse Mum came to the rescue. ‘Muuuuum, can you make me a cup of hot blackcurrant juice? Muuuuuum, can you run me a bath and sit and talk to me while I’m in it? Muuuuuuu-uuuuuuuuuuuum, I can’t sleeeeeeeep and I don‘t feeeeeeeeel weeeeeeeeeellll, can I sleep in your bed?’ Yes. Yes. (Reluctantly, even though I‘d already clambered in and taken the duvet) yes.

My Mum went to work the next day covered in my germs while I had a long lie and woke up feeling like I could live to fight another day. There must be some reason why parents do all that sort of stuff for us, I’d like to find out why at some point in the future. Maybe whatever it is will be enough to cure me of my fear of the under-2s.