Melanie La'Brooy's "Babymoon".
Isabelle Beckett and Jack Boyd are expecting their first child. And Isabelle is the very model of a calm Earth Mother-to-be.
Or she would be if she wasn't consumed by anxiety about finding her pelvic floor, watching birthing videos or deciding upon an uber-trendy or dreadfully practical pram. Of course, she's thrilled and excited - she just feels slightly out... of... control!
But with the support of a host of new mothers and friends - all full of the worst possible advice - just maybe Isabelle can make it through pregnancy and childbirth with her dignity, her relationship and some more private bits intact.
Then again, maybe not.
I was never one of those girls who always knew that they wanted to be a mother someday. I never leaned over prams and cooed at babies on the street or caught the gaze of their proud parents and offered them a warm smile. Through a mixture of disinterest, fear and, I have to admit, distaste, I rarely offered to hold a newborn offspring of friends and family. Dropping them on the crowns of their partially formed skulls was only one of my many concerns. Infinitely worse was the thought that at any moment I might be hit by a projectile form of liquid waste from either end.
In short, I wasn't really interested in babies. Babies can't tell jokes, they don't have opinions, they smell and they're more demanding than, well, I am.
Which was why I was now staring in abject terror at the newborn babe in my arms, wondering what the hell I was going to do with it.
Because, for once, I couldn't hand it back to its parents after the obligatory five minutes and a pathetic stab at which parent it most resembled.
This time it was different.
This time it was mine.
The countdown to mummydom has started...