So today I'm going to broaden my appeal by talking instead about something else I loved just about as much as my children, and something that just about everyone can relate to: my dog.
Greta the German shorthaired pointer has been a subject of my column many times over the years, and arrived in my life as a small, brown, fluffy ball roughly about the time I started writing these weekly words 13 years ago.
Over the summer while I was on maternity leave, my fur child passed away. As we explained to our toddler, she had "gone to God".
How I felt the day she died is not something I can put into words, but the love I had for her is something I want to try to, and if I can't quite get it down in black and white, I know that most of you reading will have loved a dog at some point and understand in your hearts what is hard to express in words.
It is one of life's greatest truths that a dog is man's best friend.
Over her lifetime, even the closest of friends came and went from my life, and when broken relationships saw me literally retreat under the covers, it was Greta's little wet nose and enthusiasm for chasing balls that got me out from under them.
In her final months, she was at last reaping the rewards of patiently waiting for me to have babies who would throw food on the floor for her.
My eldest baby was only just beginning to discover what a fabulous playmate she was.
Bought as a country dog but moved into town at a young age, Greta escorted me to work every day and became a popular personality on the city streets.
She was always eager to pause for pats and once put her hunting instincts to noble use, rushing to the aid of a terrified shopkeeper who had an urgent rat problem, swiftly solved by Greta.
She featured in numerous photography assignments as an unpaid extra and was happiest in the back of my car with her head out the window, heading to the next job.
I loved her like she was human but what I've discovered since she left me is that unlike real babies (and even adults), fur babies give back in an uncomplicated, unconditional way that feels as important as the air I breathe.
Whenever there was an argument I was overwhelmed by or an exhausting day of work or mothering, Greta was there at the end of it, lying beside me, asking nothing in return.
Adjusting to life without that sort of emotional mainstay is incredibly hard, and it's tempting to get another Greta to fill the big empty hole she has left.
But unfortunately I don't feel there could ever be another Greta.
She was the one that broke the mould, and when she died she broke my heart as well.
* Eva Bradley is a columnist and photographer
