When I was pregnant with my first child, a woman asked me whether I'd like a boy or a girl. I remember giving her the standard, but truly heartfelt, reply that I didn't mind as long as he or she was born healthy. The lady laughed and told me that in her opinion, all mothers should have a son and all fathers deserved to have a daughter, and that she was hoping I'd get to have a little boy.

Back then I found her sentiment quite odd, since my relationship with my own mother is incredibly close. I never really thought of it again, but after 11 years of being a mother to Jesse and Joe, I think I now understand what she meant.

I adore the closeness I have with my two boys. They're unbelievably open, full of energy, affectionate, fantastic at communicating and generally delightful to be around. I always describe them as the light and joy of my life. I love their inquisitive minds, outrageous sense of humour and their passion to take on anything and everything at a million miles an hour. I find I really relate to their approach to life.

I also love the active relationship I share with them. They're up for any sport. They particularly love to wrestle and tackle, kick a ball around, play tennis and bike ride. Pretty much all physical activity suits them. They never worry much about fashion, which again is also very similar to me. Years ago I witnessed one of my sisters have a huge debate with her daughter about what they were going to wear for the day. As far as I could tell the problem was a difficult choice between a massive pile of pink clothes and another equally huge pile of pink clothes.

It was really then that I sent up a silent thank you to the sky above for blessing me with two children who'd quite happily walk out the door in potato sacks, if that's all that was available. I've always wondered how I would go bringing up a little girl. I do spend a lot of time with my nieces, who I love dearly. But I tend to struggle when it comes to talk of doing their hair and their endless love for accessories, not to mention the hours pondering over clothes.

While I find it amusing to watch my sisters deal with headstrong and occasionally moody daughters, I'm grateful for how simple it's been to raise my boys so far. It's a very rare occasion in our household when one of them will be grumpy for any length of time. If they're annoyed about something, rather than stew on it for hours, they let me know straight away. We resolve the issue and forget it.

The same happens if they've got a problem with a friend at school, instead of creating any drama, they deal with whatever's going on. They'll tell me they aren't mates any more and move on. Two days later they're all close friends again. It's almost as if they don't need or want any kind of drama in their lives. When I asked my mum whether she found bringing up her three daughters easier than her son, she gave me one of those knowing looks and said: 'How do you measure it?'

While we're close now, she does think I've forgotten all the years where my two sisters and I were causing havoc with our hormonal fury - always dramatising situations and huffing off to our room with an obligatory door slam along the way.

My brother Mick was a lot easier because he seemed to grunt for a decade, and sleep a lot. Although he did give her a lot more grief in his late teenage years with lots of wild partying. Yet, they still share an extraordinarily close relationship. If I've one wish as a parent, it's that I can help guide my boys through their tumultuous teenage years hopefully avoiding all the terrible pitfalls you hear about.

I really want them to feel safe, loved, but not suffocated, and happy. My only other wish is that they'll always be happy to give me one of their gorgeous cuddles.

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