I met someone a couple of weeks ago at a party. She (proudly) told me that she didn’t want to have children. I didn’t ask if she had a partner. She then asked me if I had children. (She didn’t ask if I had a partner). And then she asked me what type of mother I was.

Basically she had broken every rule in my small-talk handbook. That night, once safely at home away from bad cocktail drinkers and silly comments, I started to think about the different mothers I knew and how they might fit into types. The ridiculously kind souls who never shout (they do exist). Those who never admit they are wrong to their children. The ones who over-praise – their kids, the dog, even me. Not forgetting the ‘What About ME!’ mother who continually puts herself first.

But then the whole sorting these mums into types felt ALL wrong. Bad and unfair and downright horrid. So, I quickly unsorted the mums in my head and instead started to think what I should have said to her, Ms Judgemental as she questioned me.

I’m the type of mother who just tries not to overanalyse who I am’ I should have answered. ‘Because if I’m a type then so are my kids and then what a dull old world this would be.

Or – on the other hand - I could have just as easily retorted ‘the unpredictable mother’…