I think he’s rumbled us – our 8 year old super sleuth. His heart yearns for Santa but his head is full of doubts.

Its Christmas Day eve – I’m in the hallway delaying the dogs last pee. I shiver at the sight of frosty windscreens. I hear him quizzing upstairs, “it’s just you and mum isn’t it?” The dad’s reply is swift and sure but can it persuade the son?

The debunking of Santa is heartbreaking for every child. I was in the first year of Heavitree Middle – a smirking cad burst my festive bubble. I remember feeling gutted at first; it was wondrous while it lasted.

There’s a loss of innocence when the myth explodes. I ponder this as the dog tugs me across grass. Suddenly I feel sad – like the too blue lights twinkling from trees. The years go fast my boy is growing.

I wonder if I’ve savoured these Santa years enough. The joy of hanging stockings – of charting his sleigh across the globe. Guiltily I fear I haven’t. Too eager to get back to my book or the mindless scrolling of the phone.

In that moment I am sad at my complacency. But it’s no use – I’ve done my best. I can’t go back or freeze time. My boy with a quick mind and quicker feet won’t stop still.

He’s already straining at the reins. It is not my job to hold him fast. I am here to help him grow – to find himself. As much as we’d like to keep our children small they are preparing to fly from the off.

Losing Santa doesn’t mean magic is over. Even as adults we seek wonder – the tingle of anticipation. Whether waiting for a film to start or the first bars of a familiar song – nostalgia wraps us like a still warm bed.

But this is likely the last Santa Christmas. Our junior detective has sprung our con. The Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy stand anxiously by. As we box the decs and stockings I shall shed a little tear. But we’ll always make room for magic – for a little sparkle turns a grey day bright.