In my teens, I imagined that I’d be married by 25, with at least one child before 30, definitely two before 33. I think I held onto this fantasy well into my 20s.

I had a few serious relationships, where it inevitably became clear that the goal (or viability) of marriage and children was not shared.

In my mid-30s, it looked like marriage and a baby were imminent. I had the ring, the dress, the house, the dogs. You get the idea.

As the saying goes, “it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all”. A broken engagement is devastating, but sometimes it really is for the best.

At 39, I froze some eggs, just in case I met someone I could see a future with. At 41, after over a year of serious thought and planning, I went ahead with the decision to try for a donor-conceived baby. Against the odds, I got pregnant on the first try.

I had the full support of my parents, who assured me that they would help as much as possible. They were even in the waiting room during my procedure. My mom went to every scan with me.

Strangely enough, in my teens I’d actually stated that I wanted my mom in the delivery room with me, rather than my husband. This was now the reality. She even cut the cord.

My dad waited in the waiting room. I’d woken them up at 04h30 when my water broke, a week before my scheduled C-section.

My brother and his wife had just welcomed their second daughter to the family when I got pregnant. They are a wealth of knowledge, and my sister-in-law has been the voice of reason when I spun out during pregnancy, and now in motherhood.

My nieces adore my son, and my then four-year-old niece was one of the first people to meet him.

Balking at the cliché of dreadful in-laws, my brother married into a very loving and caring family. His mother-in-law cautiously let me know that she would be honoured to stand in the position of a grandparent. I was only too thrilled. I’d already felt very embraced by the family.

To hear my sister-in-law’s sister refer to my son as her nephew made my heart swell. She’s currently pregnant (and due very soon) with a little girl who will be his cousin too.

Last Christmas, his first, we were all just one happy family. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised, but I don’t take it for granted to be treated as immediate family by my brother’s in-laws. My son isn’t treated like “the other side of the family”.

Many of my friends consider him to be a nephew too. One of my friends hosted my baby shower, his baptism after-party and his first birthday party.

Another seems to bring him a gift every time she visits Cape Town. Yet another has offered to babysit when I finally get myself back to a dance class.

Before I even got pregnant, I was worried that I’d lose friendships because my life was about to change. People spoke about sacrifice.

However, it’s only the spontaneity of some of my adventures that has had to dim. I’ve increased my friend circle as I’ve reconnected with friends who were already moms.

Two friends gave birth to their own babies in the six weeks before my son was born. We did not plan it that way. What a joy to see them growing up together.

I’m not sure how other families categorise “cousins” because I tend to drop the degrees. It does get a bit complicated based on age.

On one side of the family, I’m closer in age to my first cousins, so their kids are naturally “my cousins’ kids” and “my son’s cousins”. I was brought up to call almost everyone older than me Aunty or Uncle.

However, on my dad’s side of the family, my oldest cousin is in his 60s and I’m closer in age to his kids. I refer to his daughters as my cousins, and their kids as my son’s cousins. I feel like I need to carry a family tree around with me.

At a recent family gathering I saw my son absorbed into the laughing and tumbling tornado of extended family. His face bright as he tried to crawl towards the picnic spread. Squealing as he was swooped up and tickled. I knew that he was safe and loved.

I suppose this is what a tribe looks like. A mixture of old and young, at every stage and manifestation of life. It’s very hard being a single mom, so I don’t know where I’d be without them.