‘I am reminded that the gap between pushchair and wheelchair is short'

Please excuse the dust and the thumping sound of the kango hammer in the background, but the builders are here.

“You’re lucky to get them,” my neighbours tell me, as they squeeze past the white vans parked haphazardly outside the house.

“Rare as hen’s teeth,” I’m told.

The fact I have an electrician and plumber here too, seems to be the equivalent of finding gold at the end of the home-enthusiast’s rainbow.

They are here because, for my partner, the stairs have become, literally, too big a hill to climb.

Accepting that our future is now going to take place on the flat, we have decided to convert the utility room into a wet room and the playroom – long since empty of toys – into a ground-floor bedroom. Consigning the upstairs to, well, I’m not sure what to be honest, guest rooms, I suppose?

It’s been years since we last made any changes to the house – other than painting a wall or hanging a new pair of curtains – and we’ve had plenty of help.

Occupational therapists and engineers beating a steady path to our door as they’ve meticulously measured doors and passage ways. Clipboard in one hand, leaflets and advice in the other.

I’ll be honest, and admit it has taken me a while to come to terms with the change, reluctant to relinquish my lovely bedroom with its beautiful view across the village and the rolling hills beyond.

I’ve sorted through the drawers, deciding which clothes will be making the move downstairs with us, and which will remain in our past life. Checking zippers and rifling through pockets as I filled bags for the charity shop.

I was delighted when I found my ‘precious box’ hiding at the back of the wardrobe. You know the box, the one crammed with those first curls scooped off a barber shop’s floor, tiny teeth left under sleepy pillows, and homemade cards too precious to ever discard.

Each item a rose-tinted reminder of the long days and short years when the children were small, and it felt like the sun never stopped shining.

Now that the work has started, I’m beginning to feel quite excited. For necessity, the bathroom needs to have wide doors, bars on the walls, and a seat in the non-slip shower. But I think, with help from the fluffy grey bath sheets I’ve ordered and a fancy vertical radiator on the wall, I can make it look more spa than sanitarium.

How could you be tearing up your L-plates one minute, and getting your bus pass the next?

“A new stage in your life!” my friend, Jules, typed with a smiley emoji and an abundance of exclamation marks, when I sent a screenshot of the plans to her.

I first met Jules lounging beside a pool in Mallorca, and it’s astonishing how fast the decades have flown by since. The messages we share, shifting from holiday plans and restaurant reviews, to images of non-slip flooring for wet-rooms, mirroring the evolution of our friendship.

Everyone tells you how quickly the years slip by. But you don’t believe them, until you look back and wonder how you could be tearing up your L-plates one minute, and receiving your bus pass the next?

Time ticks by like a metronome count of memories, as the seesaw of life reaches the tipping point and starts to descend gently down the other side.

The pages within the book of life keep turning, bringing us all too soon to this chapter. Full of challenges for sure, but at what stage were there not?

We’re here, we’re together, and ready to embrace the changes and make the most of this new time in our lives. The invigorating smell of fresh paint in the air, and every wall-shuddering thud from the builders’ drill, reminding me that the gap between pushchair and wheelchair is short. We shall make the most of it.

As for the cards in the precious box that is now waiting to be moved downstairs too? Well, I rarely open the box, or take the cards out. The writing is so faded now that the words have nearly vanished.

Ink, like memories, fades.

Love, however, doesn’t.