My children are growing up… too fast if you ask me. The other day, as I went to bed, I said to my youngest daughter, “I will have left for my yoga class in the morning, in case you are not awake by then.” I wanted to manage her expectations and ensure she felt safe knowing where I was when she woke up. I do this often. This wasn’t the first time I had said these words to her, but her response, a bittersweet moment for me, was a first: “That’s fine, Mummy,” she muttered in a groggy voice, nuzzling into me as she drifted off to sleep. I closed my eyes, stroking her soft, sweet-smelling hair.

When did my little baby, who protested every time I suggested going somewhere alone for five minutes, become so independent that her little heart stopped bemoaning our brief separation? I was not ready for this. Yet, like many parents, I have craved some solitude in which to remember myself, or reimagine myself even.