Seven years ago today, our daughter Maya was born. She’s our second child, and a surprise in so many ways. First of all, we weren’t expecting a girl. I know it should have entered our heads as at least one possible outcome of the process of childbirth, but surprisingly it didn’t. None of our child-producing friends or relatives had had girls recently, and it turned out that over the following years none would. Maya is a girl growing up in a world of boys.

We didn’t even have a name for her. For about three weeks Paola and I argued about what to call ‘the baby’, and things were looking bleak until my sister Kelly finally ended the debate by suggesting we call her Maya – a name both of us immediately liked.

Her babyhood and toddlerhood passed off without too much fuss. She seemed extremely ‘girly’, liked clothing that was pink and glittery, animals that were small and furry, and stories featuring mermaids and princesses. Then, about a year ago, she began rejecting most of that, and is now into dark colours, lego, Horrid Henry, witches and snails – though small, furry animals remain popular.

What can I say about my little girl? She has eyes sharper than a magpie: able to spot a tiny insect from across a room, or a missing granny in a crowded shopping centre. She’s an expert party organiser, particularly when it comes to her own birthday parties, which she likes to plan in meticulous detail months in advance.

She does her own thing – be it art or writing, playing with the gerbils, or setting up a school of stuffed toys. And the evidence of her endless imaginative play is scattered messily all over the house, waiting for me to trip over it.

She’s sensitive. I remember seeing her cry watching King Kong fall off the tall building when I thought she’d be too young to feel such empathy. She’s often hurt by little things her friends say. But she’ll ease the hurt by writing a letter to said friend, explaining to her what she did and asking for an apology. She often writes notes to me, informing me politely yet firmly that I’ve done something wrong.

So far she’s not proved herself a prodigy at school. She’s not the best young pianist, dancer, singer or karate kid who ever lived. And I don’t care. She has qualities I can’t begin to describe, and I have no idea where they came from. She’s her own person.

The biggest surprise, I suppose, is that I’m still surprised by her.

Happy Birthday Maya, my beautiful little girl. I love you, and I’m so so proud of you.