Single Girl in the UAE: is exposed to baby fever While I'm lukewarm about the idea, the Skinny Banker is enamoured and doesn't stop awww-ing about it. Her biological clock has gone off the Richter scale of late. And before I know it, she's dragging me into a shop called Build-A-Bear in The Dubai Mall. "Sirma'am, come and make a cuddly bear," shouts the Filipino shop assistant. The next thing you know, I'm dressing a custom-made bear in a Hello Kitty top and cooing over its passport. A few hours later, I'm cursing the damn bears, trying to stuff them in my suitcase. Reluctantly, I remove a pair of heels and the book I've been dying to read, Jung Chang's Mao: The Unknown Story, then plonk myself on top of my case, finally snapping it shut. At the moment, my friend's little darlings are sleeping in a cot in the living room of her rabbit hutch-sized apartment. "Don't be deceived by their cuteness," she warns me. They can be little monsters! Surely not, they look so adorable. When her little boy awakes, she scoops him up and places him in my arms. He gurgles, wriggles around like a snake and grips my finger with the strength of Godzilla. However, within minutes, this playful behaviour segues into utter pandemonium. A loud shriek is followed by crying that ascends in volume. I sway gently from side to side - to the point that I'm feeling sea sick - and this doesn't make a jot of difference. Nor does attempting a Norah Jones impression, which actually sounds more like a vocally challenged street cat. No wonder the blubbering hasn't subsided. Worryingly, the little fellow starts to look positively angry. Small fists clenched. "It must be time to change his nappy," says my friend, pointing towards a stack of nappies. I gasp in horror as wafts of the neon turmeric coloured explosion in the nappy fill the room. How can such a sweet little thing produce such an evil stench? Once the fresh nappy is on, mercifully the snivelling disappears. The momentary bliss is interrupted by a loud yelp emanating from the other twin. Her bellowing continues for the next hour or so. This is beyond exhausting! How do you cope with this? I ask. "Well, half the time I feel like I'm going insane," she admits. I hardly have time to go to the toilet, let alone put on any make-up! Thank God for Tobias. Tobias is her Swedish boyfriend, who is a nappy-changing, lullaby-crooning genius. Still, he's not home until 9.30pm since he's out somewhere cheering on his football team, Bajen. Meanwhile, our entertainment consists of cries, burps and gas emissions. Finally, when her smiley boyfriend stumbles through the front door, we scurry out of it. It's still light and dusky outside and the cafes are buzzing with Stockholmers. We reach my friend's favourite tapas place, sit at a table outside and order a bottle of Malbec. Do you remember Karin? She's just about to pop," says my friend. You know, she went to Denmark to have artificial insemination.  No way! Yes, she didn't know how long she might have to wait around to find the right guy. Apparently Denmark has a booming sperm bank industry and single women are attracted to it because donors still remain anonymous. "She wanted a tall man with dark brown eyes," continues my friend. Heavens! I wonder if this is a beautiful blessing or if her baby will end up suffering from an identity crisis. On that note, I pour us two generous glasses of vino. Sarah Bladen is a freelance journalist based in Dubai. You can follow her on Twitter @sarahbladen. Read the rest of our guest columnists here.