YOU join me this week in the grip of a mild panic.

Ben appears to be dropping his afternoon nap.

Although this may not seem like earth-shattering news, it is something I fear I may need counselling for to help me adjust my life.

For pretty much the last 18 months, our little routine has bumbled along quite nicely with both of us appreciating a little midday “downtime” from each other.

He dreams of eating his own weight in biscuits for an hour and a half, while I have some well-earned me-time.

Usually this consists of doing a quick sweep of the house, tidying it ready for the afternoon onslaught and doing my other domestic bits and pieces. Well, that is how I plan to spend this potentially productive window of opportunity. In reality, I often get way laid as I get reacquainted with my sofa in relation to the television or – even better – iPlayer, the best thing ever.

But it seems like I will be kissing this heady lifestyle goodbye in favour of a solid 12-hour shift. I suppose it couldn’t go on forever. School would have become a problem if he was still sleeping his way through double maths after lunch but, still, I’ll miss my little half-time break.

I suppose it isn’t all bad. It does mean I now have a bit more flexibility in my day. While I never really made plans to rigidly fit around his nibs having a nap, it was something I had to bear in mind if I was to have a reasonable non-tantruming son for the second half of the day. Without a kip he turned into Mr Unreasonable (the lesser known character in the Mr Men series) living in Unreasonable-shire having had a slice of unreasonable pie for his dinner – you get the idea. So I suppose, in many ways, this is progress I should be welcoming, but I sure will miss the sofa.