MY life is soooo Sex and The City. Except for the Manolo Blahnik shoes. And the New York backdrop. And the endless lunchtime cocktail sessions

Okay, so its not that much like it. But I do have a posse of wonderful, witty girlfriends. And one of them is having a baby.

Didn't I mention a few months ago that all my friends were happy, single, childless and looking likely to stay that was for a long time?

Ah, well. It appears I was somewhat mistaken, as the constant flood of wedding invitations, engagement announcements and new baby declarations ever since have proven.

The words "don't speak too soon" have rarely been so apt. I might start making more blanket statements like "there'll never be world peace" and "I'm certain not to find a million pounds in my shoe", in the hope that this streak of bad judgment continues.

Anyway, I digress. The point is that I hope that the rest of us are going to be a little less churlish to my mate than Samantha, Carrie and Charlotte were to Miranda. After all, Miranda's newborn spelt the end of constant lunch engagements for these good time girls.

For us, my friend's pregnancy could be more like the act of an intrepid explorer -- striding on ahead to find out if the going is safe. And then, if the coast is clear, we can safely follow. Maybe. If it doesn't hurt too much.

I'm not sure that's how she's viewing it, but perhaps that's how we should. I imagine most of us will spend her pregnancy slack-jawed with fascination as she describes her raging hormones, her shopping trips for maternity clothes, her first scan, her morning sickness.

But then, this is the beginning of the end of something, too. I know that very soon there will be more than one baby in the group. That conversations that exclude certain parts of the group already (regarding engagement rings, soft furnishings or blazing rows about the remote control) will become more frequent, more dominant, and ever more baby-oriented.

Being petless, I find it hard enough when people start cooing about their cats. I like animals but I can't have a 45-minute conversation about a kitten I've only seen once through a car window.

Maybe I'll be like this about babies. Maybe the inevitable conversations about nappy rash and gripe water, far from making me clucky, will make me want to run out and have my tongue pierced and drink cider in the park.

But maybe not. Okay, I've got no urge to rush out and buy a baby papoose anytime soon, but I've a feeling the element of fascination will remain.

I reckon I can handle it if the girlie conversations start to involve bad schools as well as bad men, teething babies as well as terrible hangovers. Just as long as those lunchtime cocktail sessions aren't a complete impossibility.