It is now nearly the third week of the month of Ramadan, and watching the moon is bittersweet. For each sight of the waning moon marks the ebb of time towards Eid, the festival at the end of this month which traditionally marks the end of Ramadan.

Islamic months follow a lunar calendar rather than the solar, Gregorian calendar used in the Western world. This means the date of Ramadan will vary slightly each year; it starts always when the first crescent of the new moon appears.

So far, fasting hasn't been too hard, just a touch of tiredness in the afternoon and a complete inability to stay awake after the Isha night prayer!

Although I have not been able to perform the night prayers I had planned (yet!), I have been keeping up with my Qur'an reading programme, Alhamdulillah (thank Allah!). My connection to the book of Allah has been strengthened as I recognise familar verses while I recite the Arabic words - the story of Noah, the alternation of the night and the day by His command, the reason for creation. I have also experienced a strange stillness within me at times, a detachedness from the hustle and bustle, and a gratitude that has moved me to tears - I am here, I am alive, able to worship my Lord, so blessed in innumerable ways.

I think back to my very first Ramadhan, way back before Islam. You see, even before I became Muslim, Ramadhan earned itself a place in my heart. I first learnt the rites of Islam – the recitation of Qur'anic verses, ritual ablution, the five daily prayers, attending the Friday congregational prayer, family weddings, fasting and feasting – in the humid climes of Guinea, West Africa. I had gone there to find out more about Islam as a precocious and adventurous student and had been seduced by the ease with which these African Muslims lived their Islam. I had felt at home with the daily routine of the Fajr prayer in the dewy morning, of cooking chicken in palm oil on the outside stove, of preparing bissap, juice from the hibiscus flower, in time for iftar, the breaking of the fast at sunset.

My return to England was greeted by grey skies and fasting in isolation. I was fortunate to meet other Muslims at university who were also fasting and, together, we carved out a niche for ourselves, sticking together in the cafeteria, our table bare, clubbing together to buy ingredients for our resident wonder chef to feed the hungry.

The next Ramadhan was better. My Islam was more established and I had a routine and a solid circle of university friends, converts and newly practicing Muslims from several different continents. We comforted each other after Asr, the mid-afternoon prayer when the hunger pangs hit, we visited different mosques to sample their iftar offerings, and we rated the imams with the most beautiful voices for the taraweeh, special Ramadhan night prayer involving the reciting of the Qur'an. Ramadhan was a heady time then, full of new experiences and strangers in strange mosques who shared food and the greeting of Asalaamu alaikum.

Now as a mother, and a working one at that, my Ramadhans are necessarily more sedate, less about adventure, more about fitting everything in and getting time to focus on what is really important.

I have shared beautiful experiences with my eldest son who turned eight this year. One night, before bed, he asked me to wake him up for suhoor, the pre-dawn breakfast, sprinkling him with water, if necessary. So, in the quiet, early hours of the morning, I brought warm waffles, drizzled with syrup, and a drink to my son, cosy in his bed. He woke immediately, a sleepy smile on his face. He ate hungrily then we went to the bathroom and made wudhu, the ritual cleansing before prayer. We prayed the Fajr morning prayer together, mother and son, and then he fell back into bed. He fasted that day, the whole day, never once asking if he could eat something, if he could break his fast early. I marvelled at this tenacity in one so young. I hadn't told him to fast, wasn't offering him anything for it but still, he was determined to complete the day. And he has completed several since then. Another sign that he is growing up, no doubt.

We are moving into the next phase, all of us. I wait to see what other memories this Ramadhan will bring…