"You'll change your mind before long," is what everyone tells me.
Perhaps I will. I can't see into the future, after all. But right now, I have no intention of having another baby - no matter how many times people ask me when the next one will be, or how many times they tell me Marianna will be lonely if I don't lie back and think of England. (Well, Wales, let's be realistic here!)
It's not that I don't like babies. I wasn't entirely sure I did before I had one, but hormones and experience have worked their magic and transformed reluctant indifference to fawning delight.
It's not even that I don't like the idea of another baby. I had a brother and, vicious brawls aside, we got on wonderfully. We shared secrets, and kept each other company, and commiserated every time the other had a telling off to deal with.
If the science in Junior was real, I wouldn't have a problem with adding to our family.
Danny DeVito and Arnie in Junior.
Because I just don't want to be pregnant again. They say you forget the pain of childbirth, and perhaps you do. Marianna was delivered by cesarean section while I was under general anaesthetic so I really can't comment on it.
I do remember the nine and half months of constant worry though, knowing that if something was wrong it was all on my shoulders. I was the one who had to keep track of the baby's movements, and I was the one who had to be careful and sensible, and report any changes to a professional only to be told I was being silly and paranoid.
I do remember the feeling of relief that I was finally at hospital, finally about to be induced at 12 days overdue, finally able to give up sole responsibility for being able to tell if something was wrong.
I definitely remember the terror of being told something was wrong. Something I hadn't even noticed, and had absolutely no control over. The sickening fear as, minutes after being welcomed onto the maternity unit with smiles and jokes, I was rushed down to theatre and warned not to get my hopes up.
I remember my own terrible aftercare, and being left to my own helpless devices with nothing to occupy my time other than imagine all the worst case scenarios. I remember the incapacitating pain of my new abdominal wound, and the blind hysteria when I was told the baby I had seen for less than ten minutes had now had a fit and might not make it.
Marianna on NICU.
We were lucky, so astoundingly lucky. On that first day when the wonderful surgeon who had only the slimmest of hopes pulled out, in her own words, 'a little miracle' who was breathing independently. And on the next, when Anthony was taken aside and told to try and prepare himself.
I was lucky. I don't smoke, rarely drink, and for the entire pregnancy did everything by the book. I'm fairly young, relatively healthy; I was considered completely low risk. Yet I came close to losing my own life on the operating table.
It might be 2016 but childbirth still isn't safe. It still isn't easy.
For once, I'm going to be selfish.
I don't want another baby.