Penni Drysdale looks at what is, what was and what might have been...

The timing was all wrong, we can see that now. Or, more truthfully, we can admit that out loud now, for I suspect that we both knew that this was the case long before we spoke the words.

We were 24 years old when we announced to the world that we were going to be parents. Now I think 24 years young, but at the time age was irrelevant. All of the boxes were ticked: we were married, owned our own home, had stable jobs and were sensible young adults. Tick, tick, tick and tick. And we didn't really go out to nightclubs or pubs much, anyway. Big tick. So, why not?

It's such a romantic concept - creating another being through an act of love, having this being grow inside you, move inside you. And then holding it, loving it, cherishing it. Playing 'happy families' while others look on, admiring, secretly wishing they had what you had.

But the timing was out from the start. In fact, the blue lines appeared only weeks before our tropical holiday - 14 days at an isolated resort with exotic food and overwhelming humidity. I fainted, I vomited and I spent many afternoons curled up in our room. The holiday halted, but the romance of it all still lingered. We could laugh - eventually - and we looked forward to the sickness passing.

Then it was the bump and immobility. Weekend bike rides together were abandoned. Tennis racquets were tucked in a dark, webbed corner in the garage and long walks at dusk became groaning shuffles around the block.

The timing was not right, according to the scans, but I didn't have a say. My body transformed in a matter of hours from firm and radiant to torn and haggard. Time stood still during our baby's birth. Time felt like it had flown when, 48 hours later, we were leaving the hospital as parents, responsible for this fragile life.

We struggled, as I now assume (and secretly hope) all new parents do, with the basics of baby care and settling. We passed the baby like a hot potato when our strategy of walking up and down the cold corridor patting, jiggling and whispering was having no effect. We felt the failure and anger acutely.

While friends spoke of lacy lingerie, I battled with clips and nursing pads. They flaunted cleavage; I hid lumpy, leaking breasts. They shopped for figure-hugging outfits and I gathered my baggy clothes close to me.

We're told that it's natural to have a period of 'adjustment' when a wife becomes a mum, a husband a dad, and the partnership a family. Life has been shaken about, tossed into the air and the pieces fall erratically. It is a time of massive self-discovery, not all - or much - of it pretty.

Not yet 30, our lives have become Saturday nights on the couch, comfy undies, t-shirt bras (that's just me) and mounting frustrations. Big things, small things, simple and complex things seem out of reach. Dinner out after 6pm, being able to chew each mouthful, swallow it completely and then have a second drink if desired. A walk after dinner and then a sleep-in the following morning. Some further study or a risky new business venture. And travel - no thought of having to find accommodation that has 'family' rooms or even accepts children. No need to plan 'safe', child-friendly activities.

I often think about how different things could have been, but when I wake up each morning, this is what I have. Reality is hurried meals, 'family' accommodation, bleary eyes and sometimes boiling blood. There are frustrations, tears and longing. And yet, the being who grew inside me and who now challenges us each and every day, somehow makes timing irrelevant.