Nobody ever received a phone call from me to suggest unscheduled sleepovers because our kids were ‘just having so much fun’Some mums are absolute naturals. They can anticipate and delight in their child’s every need. Photograph: Getty Images Wed Aug 26 2026 - 05:08 • 4 MIN READFew things are more annoying to a young mother than someone (usually a stranger) sagely advising you how it “all goes by in a flash” and to “savour every moment” while your toddler balances precariously on a nearby staircase with one finger up a nostril and the baby in your arms crankily headbutts you, indicating it’s time for yet another feed. If only, you think, it could all go by in a flash. Right now, bedtime is seven years away.Some mums are absolute naturals. They can anticipate and delight in their child’s every need. Playtime, bath time, storytime: bring it on. Cuddles and giggles and sleepy bye-byes. I wasn’t that mum. Yes, they played, bathed and were read to, but in a household where both parents worked, this didn’t always happen in a Waltons’ Mountain way. That witching hour between the last meal and bedtime after a day at work was tough. That time when the babies only wanted you. The questions about nothing and everything, the darting about for nappies and shampoo and pyjamas and tomorrow’s clothes. The frustrations when they couldn’t convey what they wanted. Finding the right book to read. Where’s doggy? That time when doggy got left in a shoe shop in Portugal, and I quickly resigned its fate to the doggy gods. Meanwhile, the child’s fairy/actual godmother took a detour in her taxi on the way to the airport to retrieve the same and utterly delight its bereft owner. Different strokes, different mums.No, I wouldn’t even make it through the heats to the finals of any notional parenting championships.And when they were sick? For general ailments, triage consisted of 1) ignore it; it’s a full-on week at work; 2) have they actually been physically sick? and 3) can they make it into the childminder/creche without attracting attention. Mine was never a carload of kids being ferried on a Friday between play dates and McDonald’s. Nobody ever received a phone call from me to suggest unscheduled sleepovers because our kids were “just having so much fun”. Disneyland, Legoland, Lapland? Nope, not even the midlands for Center Parcs. There were the French campsites, of course. Year after year. But it was a bit of a revelation thinking back one year on the ferry homeward about the holiday highlights and realising that doing the laundry alone one morning had been quite special. (And even that had involved quite a testy dryer face-off with a particularly burly Dutch lady.)Primary school, when it came around, was a blur of lifts, sports, birthdays, school events and headlice scares. Secondary school was more hands-off, but still involved plenty of spins in the car, more monosyllabic exchanges and hypocritical rants about mobile phone use.My husband worked at a school in Africa at one point, where the children he taught were often given meaningful names that reflected the parents’ aspirations for them. The name “Last” was my favourite.Now my “Last” is standing on the threshold of adulthood, or at least that time when secondary school finishes and the next chapter awaits. And lo, it has come to pass; I am at a loss as to how, in God’s name, we have arrived at this point already.That small laughing child is now fully grown (taller than me), with one eye firmly fixed on the door. With a driving licence, a job and an action-packed social life. It’s all I can do to grab their attention for a few minutes on a rare fly-past. Sights have been set on studies away from home. The clock is ticking down to a time when I’ll come in the door from work, and no one will be asking what’s for dinner (only to be repelled by my answer). No one will be locked in an embrace with the dog, the most beloved family member. No one will be scrolling in their bed, obscured from view by teetering piles of clothes, books and laundry.So that was 18 years. A blurry timeline of mealtimes, bedtimes, parks, matches, holidays, rows and laughter. And just when I thought I was coming into my own, these late teens surely proving to be my parenting sweet spot, the moment has passed. That captive audience is no longer captive. All I can do is look on in awe at Last and what the village has created – and it does take a village. This beginner adult full of ideas and interest and empathy and fun embarking on life’s journey. Oh the places you’ll go. IN THIS SECTION