I'm feeling sad this evening.

Sad that my children are growing up so fast, that I'm speeding through this phase of my life. Sad that we've made choices that mean that having a fourth baby would be irresponsible. Sad that I'm already 36, and getting older and older, so that in a few years having a fourth baby will be impossible anyway.

I took Steve to the bank today so that he could open up an account (now that he is 16 he can get one with a debit card and various other bells and whistles), and, as he was talking to the bank manager, I was struck by how adult he has become, both in looks and demeanor. He's 16 now; how many more years will we have him at home? How many more years till he chooses not to come on family holidays with us? Time is running away from me. It seems like just a few minutes ago that my son was a serious little blonde boy toddling across the university lawns, but here he is, almost a grown man.

And Emily. She's 13 now, and I hardly saw her today. Some of her friends came here for a while, and then they went all walked down to play football in the park with a bunch of other kids.

And as for Sophie - my "baby" ... This will be the last night that I kiss an eight year old good night. She's nine tomorrow, and deliriously excited. She can't wait for morning to come. I, on the other hand, would love to slow time down.