I have often been accused of favouring my youngest child, and while I’m not sure that’s fair, there is something special about that kid. She was conceived after a miscarriage and illness, many years after her siblings, and she was born just three weeks after the death of my sister. She’s an absolute delight, and I have never once regretted the decision to have her.

And yet … and yet …

But motherhood is only partially about love; unless you’re exceptionally wealthy, most of it is about labour. Credit:iStock

As my baby begins high school this week, just as my middle child enters university, I can’t help fantasising about being free. For the past seven years I’ve been a single parent, but even during my marriage I was the primary caregiver. My son is now 20, my big girl is 18, and I’ve been nurturing and cleaning and mediating and counselling and washing and cooking and comforting and organising and shopping and advocating and schlepping and giving for nearly 21 years.

I am 51 years old and have been focused on my children for over two decades. And I keep hearing that childhood passes in the blink of an eye – "the days are long, but the years are short!" people cry – I feel like I’ve been parenting for a century or more.