“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.