Six months pregnant and waiting to go in for my scan, I felt anxious.  I already had a boy.  Alexander was almost two.  Now I wanted a girl. Before trying for this baby, I'd followed a diet that was supposed to help determine the sex.  For a girl, you were meant to avoid salty food and go for milk, cream and yoghurt. The staff set about doing the scan.  I couldn't stop myself.  `Is it a boy or a girl?' I asked. They wouldn't tell me.  But I thought I glimpsed a penis and testicles on the screen. `I'm sure we're having a boy,' I said to my husband Mark that night.  He didn't mind one way or the other.  `Let's just wait and see, love,' he smiled.

Three months later, I gave birth to Christopher.  For just a split second, I felt a pang of disappointment.  Then it went - I knew how lucky I was to have another beautiful, healthy baby. And I wasn't surprised it was another boy.  I had two brothers, and my father was one of three boys.  So was Mark. Looking after two little ones was very demanding.  But still I wanted a daughter.

I'd been very close to my mum Pamela.  She died in 1995 and I missed her terribly.  We'd had such a close bond, the kind only a mother and daughter can have.  I knew the only way to experience that again would be to have a little girl of my own. My periods had gone a bit haywire.  I was bleeding twice a month and worried I could be starting an early menopause.  The thought that I might not be able to have any more children made me fell desperate.

When Christopher was just over two old, I sat Mark down.  `I want to try for another baby - a girl,' I told him. He was fine about it. I started using ovulation charts but, five months later, we'd still had no luck.  Then a friend called.  She told me about a new clinic that claimed to help you choose the sex of your child.
 I called, and they sounded encouraging.  The service cost £199 and there were no drugs involved. They sent me a detailed questionnaire.  I wrote down information - about my periods, ovulation dates, blood type, sex of my children - and sent it off.

Two weeks later, I received a 12-month calendar.  Certain days were highlighted - this was when I could conceive a girl.  At all other times we had to refrain from sex or use a barrier method of birth control. Most of the women they helped conceive within six months.  But I found I was pregnant within just one month.

`What if it's another boy?' I thought.

But it was too late to worry about that now.  I was in my late 30s and the most important thing was to find out if my baby was developing normally.  At 11 weeks, I had some tests and a scan.  The results would also tell me if I was expecting a girl or a boy. I wouldn't hear for two days.  When the phone finally rang, I was quaking with nerves.  `Mrs Redmain?' I heard the voice say.  `I have good news.  Everything's fine, and you're expecting a girl.' I burst into tears.  I couldn't help it - I was so happy.  But later I worried they might have made a mistake.  I called back. `I just want you to confirm the results,' I said.  They repeated them.  I still wasn't convinced.  I called again and got the same reply.  When I told Mark that night, he was as thrilled as me.

Out and about in the shops, I couldn't resist buying pretty little floral outfits.  Back a home, I'd put them away with the receipts.  `If it's a boy I'll just take them back,' I told myself. I explained to the boys I was having another baby.  `I don't want another brother,' said Alexander.  `You'll love it, whatever it is,' I said, afraid to tempt fate. At six months, I started bleeding, but a scan showed everything was normal.  I inspected every inch of my baby's image on the screen.  I couldn't see any male genitals. Even so, I wouldn't let myself truly believe it.  `Not until she's in my arms,' I told Mark, 49. On 11 August this year, I went into labour.  I'd just been helped onto the bed when I gave birth - it had taken just 25 minutes.

`Well done,' the midwife beamed.  ` You have a little girl.'  I was so shocked from the speed on my labour, I barely took it in.

When the midwife left, I undid the nappy and saw for myself.  Then and only then did I let myself believe I had a daughter. `Hello, you' I whispered. We called her Emily, with Pamela as a middle name, after my mum.  The boys are mad about her, especially Alexander, now five.  Hearing him talk about his baby sister is so sweet. I don't love Emily any more than my sons - I wouldn't be without them for the world.  It's just that she's different. I don't feel it was wrong to choose the sex of my child.  I don't know how I'd have reacted if we'd had a boy, but I'm sure I'd have loved him just as much.

Emily's just Emily.  She's made me, and our family complete