The walls of the spare room are the same pale grey they were when I moved in. I bought the grey linen bedcover to match. Plus the black-and-white striped sheets to complement the sophisticated look I was going for. Along with the dark grey curtains and the black wooden side tables, the room has a classic spare-room look similar to an upmarket hotel.

It’s no nursery.

Crossing my arms, I narrow my eyes. Emma has informed me that for the first couple of months at least, the baby will probably be in my room, in a yet-to-be-purchased bassinet beside the bed. But eventually, I’ll want to put the baby down to sleep in its own room. Plus, I’ll want to feed and change the baby in his or her bedroom. The one I’m scrutinizing. Which means, said Emma, presenting me with a list, I’ll need a cot, and a change table, and a comfortable chair for breastfeeding. Plus a gazillion nappies and wipes, and muslin cloths (you can never have too many), and clothes for the wee one, of course. And a buggy, and blankets and, most importantly, black-out curtains. If you invest in one thing, said Emma, make sure the baby’s room is as dark as you can make it. If they see so much as a crack of light, they’ll resist sleep.

I shut the curtains and the door and wait for my eyes to adjust. It’s dark, but I can still make out the various shapes in the room. If I wave my hand around, I can see it clearly. Not only is there a strip of light visible either side of the curtains, but there’s also a glow coming through the curtains, which gets brighter the longer I look.

I open the curtains and check my watch. Too late to go shopping now. Even the shopping centre will be closed. My heart begins to race. I spent all afternoon mucking about in the garden when I should have been getting ready for this baby. I’ve got nothing so far, not even a baby seat for the car. What if the baby comes early? I can’t even bring it home from the hospital. That’s assuming I can drive. What if I can’t drive because I had to have a caesarean? I should have bought a bassinet months ago, or at least started researching. I can’t just buy any old one It needs to be a top-quality one made of natural, non-toxic materials. The sheets should be organic cotton and the blankets 100 per cent wool. How can I be six months pregnant and so disorganized? I can’t have a baby. I’m not ready.

I race to my room and pick up my phone, my breathing fast and shallow. Someone needs to help me calm down. Talk me out of this panic. But who?