“Now I don’t have children any more…” I found myself saying to an old friend  this afternoon.  Until she brought me up short by reminding me that, yes, actually, I still do.

And of course I do.  Two delightful, charming, intelligent, beautiful, talented,  beloved children.  I was mortified to have said such a thing.   I am writing this as an attempt to assuage the guilt of even temporarily denying their existence.

Except, I also, sort of don’t have children any more.

I didn’t have to dash home from meeting Louise to pick them up from school.  I can,  for the first time in years,  make plans that aren’t dependent on  finding a responsible adult to  look after them until Richard or I can make it home.

There are times when I really miss the having of children; the privilege of being absolutely at the centre of someone else’s life.  And I love (almost) every minute I spend in their company.  But I do have to say, emerging on the other side of the babysitting years has its advantages too.