Spending roughly 80 minutes a day commuting by car, I usually fill the time with Radio 4; the Today programme in the morning, Eddie Mair and the PM team on the way home. However, being hormonal is the perfect time to listen to music. I find I’m so more connected emotionally to sound, feeling it in all over my body, in my stomach and my heart. So I traded in my obsession for news to listen to proper CDs and a back catalogue worth running up a credit card bill and student loan for.

In two weeks time we have our 20 week anomaly scan. It’s also where you generally find the sex of the baby, if they play ball and pose in the right position. We opt to find out although many parents don‘t. To be exact, I am the one who insists on knowing, my husband would probably not find out. I am a self-confessed control freak and like to be prepared. Plus, this time round, if I am going to have a boy, I would like to find out and brace myself.

I have inappropriately joked that because this little one isn’t moving as much as my daughter did, it must be a lazy little boy. The humour helps me deal with the fact we have a 50/50 chance of having a boy (which I seem to have forgotten during the romance of trying for a baby) whereas the ideal family set for me would be to have another girl. I have tried extremely hard the last few weeks to imagine a son but images of other peoples terrors pop into my head. For some reason, I conveniently forget every temper tantrum my daughter has had and can only think of the most clingy, dribbly and demanding tinkers of the male variety.

That was until I decided to relive my twenties through my album collection. The baby tossed briefly inside my belly while I was letting the Smashing Pumpkins classic Siamese Dream wash over me. I immediately started to daydream about a boy who grows his hair long, teaches himself the guitar and worships classic riffs by musical giants. I know, I know, there’s no reason why my daughter can’t be the rock hero. I should know, I wanted to be Polly Jean Harvey at 19. However, after struggling a little with the idea of having a boy, this connection to music made me start to imagine life with a son. As days passed, I polluted the car with Pearl Jam, Nirvana, The Lemonheads, Stone Temple Pilots and Sonic Youth nearly to the max volume in the hope of penetrating the womb with grunge guitar vibrations. On a slightly lower volume, even Little L exclaimed, ‘I like this one mummy,’ to Soundgarden’s timeless grunge anthem, Black Hole Sun. My heart swelled with pride, she timed her comments perfectly to my current gushy mood.

Looking at the long view, our immediate concerns are obviously a healthy pregnancy, birth and baby. However, with so much time in my head at the moment, it’s the music that is keeping me balanced about trivial fears, such as having a boy. Grunge saves the day once again.

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