My names James. I always fancied myself rather fortunate in life, seeing as I managed to become both a father and a husbanddouble jackpot, eh? I married Emily, whod been the apple of my eye since our days at secondary school. She loyally waited while I did my stint in the army, and when I finally returned, we wasted no time tying the knot.
First, along came our eldest son, Oliver. Then, three years later, we welcomed our second son, Harry. But if Im being entirely honest, Id always been set on having a daughter. Even when Emily was pregnant the first time, I went around telling everyone that I desperately hoped for a little girl. This threw everyone into a spin. Surely blokes dream of sons, dont they? But there I was, totally fixated on having a daughter. Fate, however, had other ideasEmily gave birth to a strapping son. And three years later, another.
Emily and I rattled along nicely, our lads growing up into proper little terrors. Then, out of the blue, Emily hit me with a corker: she was pregnant again. I was gobsmacked. A third child wasnt exactly on the agenda. But truth be told, I was chuffed to bits.
This time, youre definitely giving me a little girl! Third time lucky! I said, probably sounding far too hopeful. Emily just grinned and said, Oh, Im sure itll be a girl this time round!
Both my mum and Emilys mum were adamant, just by the look of Emilys bump, that it had to be a girl. Even the ultrasound backed them up. We were all bracing ourselves for a daughterOliver and Harry even picked out her name.
When the time came, I whisked Emily off to the hospital. I barely slept a wink, pacing about and worrying myself sick over how she was doingand whether wed finally got our little girl. By morning, I rung up the hospital. Congratulations! Youve got a son3.2 kilograms, 54 centimetres.
I was convinced theyd cocked it up. There must be some mistake! We were supposed to have a girl. But alas, thered been no mix up. Another boy. No one saw that coming, least of all me. The real head-scratcher was, how could the sonographer have gotten it so wrong?
When I spoke to Emily, I blurted out: Did you have a fling with the bloke next door?
What are you on about? Stop talking rubbish! she snapped. It was meant to be a girl! I protested.
Oh, James, give over! she said, offended, and promptly hung up.
Eventually, Emily and our new son were discharged, and I went to fetch them. We got home, Emily unwrapped the little bundle, and I gazed down at this tiny, precious creature who needed so much love and care. At that moment, my heart just melted for my son.
Fast forward four and a half years. Our third sonBenwas learning to ride his scooter. He looked nothing like me. To be honest, he barely even resembled Emily, while our older boys looked just like pint-sized versions of me.
One day, I overheard the old ladies downstairs gossiping about how Ben didnt look like me, whispering that he bore an uncanny resemblance to Kevin from Number 32.
That stung. Curiosity gnawed at me. I confronted Emily. Is there something you want to tell me about Bens dad?
Oh, not this again! How could you!? she fumed. Just because Kevin once gave me a lift after work when I was heaving up my guts and carrying two heavy bags? Is that a crime?
No, I suppose not. Its just Ben doesnt look like me one bit!
This turned into a proper row. Emily was livid. I decided maybe a DNA test was in order, but Emily shot it down at first. Two weeks of silent treatment later, she relentedalbeit announcing that shed divorce me afterwards, just to drive the point home.
One day, I was taking out the rubbish when I spotted Kevin, still a bachelor at 35. I eyed him up, trying to spot any similarities with Ben. Honestly, couldnt see it.
Back at home, I sat in the kitchen, mulling it over, when Ben ran in, clambered onto my lap, threw his arms around me, and started chattering away. Suddenly, I felt a rush of calm. Why was I being such an idiot? No need for any tests; this was my son, through and through. I scooped Ben up and marched to the bedroom.
No DNA tests. End of.
Emily bristled. I was ready to do those bloody tests to put your mind at easeso youll finally believe hes yours and Im not some Jezebel!
I spent the whole week apologising and grovelling until Emily finally forgave me. The years rolled on. Oliver grew up, got himself a lovely wife, and before long, we were told wed be grandparentsa little granddaughter this time!
At last, a little girl to spoil rotten. And I know Ill love her to bits, just as much as I cherish my three rascally sons.
