Monday: “Mum, it’s time to get up, and don’t forget to punch Miss 11,” Miss 17 says, as she pops her head into my room at the ungodly hour of 7.35am. We take the first day of the month very seriously in our house.

I wake Miss 11 up by pinching and punching her, then I wrap my arms around her lovingly and whisper in her ear, “Don’t tell your teacher I punched you."

We head to pick up groceries, and I enjoy my spot in the passenger seat as my big girl drives. I complain about the music, ask if we’re nearly there 14 times, and beg to go to the park. She glares at me and tells me that if I’m good, she’ll take me to the coffee shop on the way home; her treat. I order the most expensive drink on the menu, with an extra shot of coffee. Having a 17-year-old is lots of fun, I’ve discovered.

Tuesday: At the start of the year, my doctor told me I was deficient in vitamin D, and said I could either take supplements or I could get some sunlight. I chose option 'B' and have enjoyed lots of walking and swimming in the lovely fresh air, saying at the time, “As if I’m going to get skin cancer after all I’ve been through."

This morning, my poor GP sat me down and told me that’s exactly what has happened, and I need a biopsy on Thursday.

Wednesday: Miss 11 is off to the high school for an orientation day, which is excellent because it means I ordered her lunch weeks ago and don’t have to pack anything today. I, however, waste this saved time by gushing over the fact that my girls are off to school together, and get a little emotional at drop-off. I hug them and kiss them embarrassingly in front of their friends... it’s their last ever day at school together. As I drive off, I’m left feeling that life is flashing before my eyes and I don’t know where all those years have gone. Once I get home, I send Hubby a garbled message trying to convey this deep emotion, and realise I forgot to take a single photo.

Thursday: Hubby comes with me for the biopsy, and it’s a breeze compared to the fine needle biopsy I had this time last year. The wonderful doctor at the skin cancer clinic told me it was fine; we’d caught it early and it looked very superficial and easy to treat. He smiled and told me not to worry.

“Oh, I’m not worried at all!” I lie.

Hubby gives me the side-eye, as I was up until 4am googling 'deaths from skin cancer', but he understands that I’m just trying to look brave for the doctor, so he lets it slide.

Friday: It’s Hubby’s RDO so we go out to breakfast together as usual, before heading to school to see Miss 11 get an award at assembly. We get there so early that we end up watching the Stage One assembly as well, but this means I get to chat to the other parents for a bit, and get some snuggles with a beautiful, tiny baby. As we walk back to the car, I suddenly realise that for the first time in my life I’ve enjoyed a school thing and wasn’t stressed at all. Maybe all this time when I thought I was antisocial I was just anxious.

We get home as the delivery guy arrives with Miss 11’s Christmas present. Now, this one’s a secret, but it’s a new bit for her swing set that looks really cool. However, the packaging is incredibly suss, so it looks like I’ve ordered something kind of X-rated. The delivery guy smirks and tells us to "have fun, but stay safe”.

Weekend: This passes in a blur of cricket, shopping, and boring household chores, but we fit in a swim and start to put our Christmas lights up. This includes the six-metre-long inflatable apatosaur I bought years ago, which remains my favourite Christmas decoration. We hoist it onto the carport roof, grab a couple of beers, and watch the sunset together. Only one more week of work and school to go!