Why on earth are people trying to put a time limit on your relationship with your children? (Picture: Sarah Whiteley)

It’s yet another social media saying, which dates back to 2018 and has continued popping back into parenting parlance ever since.

You can find it on Facebook and Instagram profiles everywhere. It feels designed to send parents spiralling into floods of tears, clasp their children tightly to them and beg them never to leave their side.

In essence, the saying goes: ‘You only get 18 summers with your children.’

And as a mum who is coming to the end of her first six weeks’ holidays after my son Theo, five, finished reception in July, I am the ideal intended target of its messaging.

But rather than reducing me to a blubbering mess (and trust me, that’s not hard to do), the patronising phrase quite simply annoys me.

Because of course you don’t only have 18 summers with your children.

For a start, they don’t begin school until they’re four – so if we’re being pedantic about it, you technically only have 14 summers with them.

And what about the 16-year-olds who don’t go to college and start work instead – is it only 12 summers with them?

Sorry, I know, I know, that was uncalled for.

But come on, let’s be serious. Why on earth are people trying to put a time limit on your relationship with your children? To add extra pressure to an already tense time of year for a lot of parents?

If I’m being generous, I can kind of see what they mean.

Parenthood doesn’t simply come to an end on the morning of your child’s 18th birthday(Picture: PA)

As a freelancer, I’ve been lucky enough to cut my working week down to two days (and seven nights and most weekends), so together, Theo and I have gone to soft plays, the cinema, the beach, a local petting farm and museums.

We’ve met up with friends, gone on playdates, been for ice cream.

It has been truly wonderful.

It’s the longest time I’ve spent with him since my maternity leave with his little sister, Immy, three. But that fell over lockdown and so, although it wasn’t all bad, I don’t look back on that time period especially fondly.

Plus, back then, Theo was only two and a half – extremely cute but hardly the most stimulating companion.

Now he’s nearly six, we can really have fun together. He makes me laugh, we can have proper conversations and do things we both enjoy.

We haven’t had to get up to an alarm clock, rush around brushing teeth and pulling on socks or throw breakfast down our throats. Yep, I’ve loved it.

And on the days that we’ve kept Immy out of nursery so she can come along with us, it’s been even more fun.

I already don’t want him to go back to school and for both of us to have to return to reality.

But am I already crossing this summer off my list, thinking I only have 17 (or 13, or even just 11) left to go? Obviously not!

By emphasising how few summers we’ll have with our children, it just ups the ante on how special they have to be

I really hope that by the time Theo and Immy are 18, they will be going off on holidays with friends and spending more time away from home – by then, they will be adults in their own right and that’s the way it should be.

But it doesn’t have to be friends or family. Hopefully my children will know that they can spend time with both sets of people – maybe even, when they’re older still, at the same time.

In my late 30s, I remain friends with the same people I met at school and university and will often invite them, their families and my parents and sister over together for a barbeque or Sunday roast.

They’ve all known each other for decades now and I love seeing all of my favourite people mix so easily together. They’re my perfect kind of days.

And hopefully, by the time that Theo and Immy are adults, me and my husband Tom will have developed such a relationship with them that they similarly wish to still spend time with us.

The more I think about it, the more ridiculous the phrase, ‘You only have 18 summers with your children’ becomes. Are we going to start saying the same thing about Christmas? How about birthdays? Or New Years?

No, we won’t. Because that would be silly.

Instead, all this ridiculous nonsense does is put even more pressure on parents. By emphasising how few summers we’ll have with our children, it just ups the ante on how special they have to be. On how we should making the most of each and every minute.

Which, for six whole weeks, is quite the ask, even for the most dedicated of mums and dads.

And what about the parents who can’t take the time off work and have had to put their children in childcare or holiday clubs? Should they be feeling even more guilty than they already do, because they’ve lost one of their sacred, scarce summers? No!

This year, I’ve seen so many mums in parent groups expressing just how awful they feel that they can’t afford to do anything with their children this summer, with the cost-of-living crisis. Should they be feeling worse, too? Of course not!

As with everything in parenthood, we do what we can, when we can. We make the most of some minutes, but in other minutes, we make dinner. Or do a wash, or plug the vacuum in.

Some days, we’ll be out all day, playing in the funfair, then strolling along the beach with fish and chips and ice cream until the sun goes down. Other days, we’ll just have a walk to the park.

Some weekends, we’ll pack a bag and go away for an adventure in a new city. Other weekends, we won’t leave the sofa.

Yes, our children are only young once and we should appreciate this time with them. But parenthood doesn’t simply come to an end on the morning of your child’s 18th birthday.

Not if you’ve done it right.  

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This particular patronising phrase infuriates me.