The first cut is the deepest. I didn't realise this as my youngest son witnessed the horrendous gut wrenching moment I said goodbye to my oldest son at the door to the London flat that was to be his new home with the new woman in his life that wasn't me.....

If I had known that, then I could have reassured my second born that his leaving would not be nearly as traumatic for me. He obviously was not damaged, or he would not have flown the nest three weeks ago. Perhaps I'm just rejoicing in the fact that the deed is done, and far from feeling bereft and umbilically challenged, as I did the first time, I was filled with a sense of joy, celebration, relief that I'd safely delivered them once again.

I could write reams on the subject, but at this stage want to make an interesting observation. My first three weeks on my own can be clearly defined. Week one - pride that I've brought them this far, and anticipation of the experience they will enjoy. Week two - freedom and opportunity for me, despite the daunting pressure to do something meaningful with my life now that I don't have kids to blame for my lack of achievement. Week three - just realised it's the first time I've been on my own, ever, I'm not making good use of my time, lying in bed late, staying up most of the night for no apparent reason, my finances are out of control, my house is an absolute mess, I'm not returning my mother's calls and I'm not eating very well at all. Am I coming out in sympathy by behaving like a student? In fact, does week three demonstrate a return to egocentricity and the me, me, me attitude of youth? Hopefully it's just a phase I'm going through.

Learn more about this author, Lynn Hoare.
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