It seems absolutely no time at all since I was introducing my daughter to her new born baby brother. She wasn't too impressed with him, and was more interested in if it was OK to eat the Milky Way someone had given her in the hospital waiting room.
A blink of an eye and I was dropping him off at playschool, taking him to swimming lessons and running around like a mad woman trying to keep up with him when he took part in Mini Movers (a toddler gym activity).
He was an amazing escapologist and when we used to pick my daughter up from school I was always the mother charging the length of the school field because their toddler son had released himself from his buggy straps and refused to wait nicely for the final bell to ring.
He loved moving up to primary school where his big sister was, although she once told me that I had to have a word with him and he was standing with his nose pressed up against the window waiting for her to finish her school lunch and expecting her to play with him in the playground. It really isn't cool to play with your 5 year old brother when you are 8.
He looked so grown up in his black suit when he moved up to the Boys High School when he was 11 and he started to exert his independence.
Suddenly he is a young man, in his 2nd year of studying politics at Sheffield and loving every minute of university life. But underneath that grown man who now towers over me and whose unshaved chin grazes my cheek when he gives me a hug, he'll always be my little boy. So when he told me with excitement of his plans to travel via Interrail throughout Europe for a month this summer, starting off the tour in Croatia and ending in Berlin - I was thrilled for him but a little part of me felt a pang of 'Oh my goodness .....'