Tonight I have been writing in the journal I began for my son when he was born.
It is incredible to be able to look back over all the entries - the first one dating back 15 years ago to 1995.
When I first began the book my intention was to keep in under lock and key until the morning of his 18th birthday - when I would present it to him for the first time.
But a few years ago he became aware of the book and at his request, we sat down and looked through it together. (Still, it remains in my possession until he turns 18).
This simple, hardcover book is filled with thoughts, anecdotes and letters, photo's, collages and relevant articles that I have collected along the way. It is honest and true, a precious testament from a mother to her son and something I am deeply proud of creating.
And although I knew that the time would come when its pages would diminish, when there would be less blank pages that the one's that had been filled, tonight I am shocked by the realisation that soon, the book will no longer be in my posession.
How on earth did this strange little creature with wrinkled skin and a shock of auburn hair transform into the gorgeous young man that stands before me today? Where did all that time go?
It is difficult to describe the way a mother feels about her first born child, and it's even harder to describe the way she feels when that child ceases to be a child - when he begins to become a man.
Looking back over the journal, I found myself crying tears of joy and sorrow. At the start of the book he was cocooned in my arms and now he has found his own wings and the courage in which to use them.
The pride I feel in watching him now is no different to the pride I felt when he took his first steps or read his first word - all along I just knew he would be amazing. And he is amazing.
But for so long they depend on you and then suddenly they don't, and no matter how deeply you love, there is nothing you can do to slow down the passing of time.
Over the course of the book we have shared everything - the highs and the lows - the arguments, the laughter, the tears, a lifetime of precious, cherished memories. As a single mother, there is no job quite like than the magnanimous task of raising a child.
But when my child looks back over the course of his lifetime, over the journey that has been documented in this simple little book - I hope he knows that I would do it all again - in a heartbeat. I hope he knows that he was loved.