Lost and Found


You hold my hand and we skip together in the sunshine, giggling. I’m not allowed to walk the wrong way over the arrows on the footpath, I have to follow your lead. We stop to look at a butterfly and to peer into the heart of a rose. You smell my arm, one sniff along the entire length of it, ‘Mummy you smell of chocolate and rosies, rosies are my favourite flower’. The rowan tree, we have wondered at for weeks as it nurtures its fruit, is laden with plump red berries and you ask how it can hold them all and whether it has fingers. And my heart is aching.

You hang your bag on the peg by the door, turn your face up for a kiss and race through the little gate. I can’t help myself and I peep around the door frame to watch. You grab the leaf with your name on and slap it on to the ‘Who’s here today’ tree and I grin as you confidently plonk yourself down hugging the gifts we chose so carefully, bursting to share them. You are grinning widely and are instantly surrounded by people who know your name.

When I return to collect you I bring your siblings with me and you run into their arms for cuddles as I say goodbye to the people who have cared for you for precious pockets of time. I hold back my tears because you are happy-go-lucky-pleased-to-see-you-what’s-goodbye-can-I-have-a-piggy-back-and-what’s-for-tea-and-look-what-I-made and my tears would confuse you.

At home on the peg in the cupboard under the stairs there is a red bag waiting. In the basket in my bedroom ready for your name are little formal trousers, no character socks and button you up shirts. I cry so hard snot comes out.

********

Yesterday I lost a little piece of you. I wrapped myself up in the misery of change. I felt the goodbye in my heart. The sadness. The missing you. But then, today, I watch you watching a butterfly. You ask me what a skeleton is for. You want to make rainbows and to bake supper biscuits. You sit on my lap and pinch my toast. You wrap your arms round my middle and giggle when your fingers touch behind me. You make dens and play cars and I see you.

Lost, one pre-school boy. Found, one boy. My boy. Still you. Still chasing dust in a sunbeam. Still wondering. Still a bit mad, making me laugh. Still with your hand in mine.

This post was written because I needed to. It was also written for Josie’s Writing Workshop at Sleep Is For The Week, I chose the prompt ‘Found‘ . Go and have a look at some of the other entries or have a go yourself!


41 Comments

Filed under Children's Development, Motherhood, Parenting, Writing Workshop

41 responses to “Lost and Found

  1. How lovely, made me cry! It was so raw and real xx

  2. What a beautiful post for such an enormously huge day for you. It produced some wonderful words which BB will love when he is older!

  3. This is beautiful. Crying like a baby here. It brings it all back when my son started school and how I’m going to have to do it all again when my daughter starts nursery/school.

    Exquisitely written.

  4. How beautifully written. This will be me in September. I am dreading it but so excited for him as he so desperately wants to be with his big brother at school.

  5. I can hardly type for the tears. So beautifully written. x

  6. Lovely post. I am dreading the day my daughter actually starts pre-school. I’m going to bawl my eyes out!

  7. Isn’t it awful how fast they grow up?

  8. Lovely, Chris. I think I will be a bit like that, hard heart that I normally am because when 4yo leaves, its the end of well over 3 years involvement with nursery and they have done such a great job with both of mine. I can’t believe that none of us will be going back again.

  9. db

    Aww..that’s beautiful – and you have such a gorgeous little boy!🙂
    Stopped by from Josie’s.

  10. I’m trying to type through the tears, what a beautiful post! I’m several years off this yet but the thought makes me well up anyway.

  11. drop4three

    Beautiful post, warm, touching and describing something that so many of us hope will never happen but find it has occurred in the blink of an eye.

  12. Lovely lovely post. I am writing something similar – but my ‘boy’ is off to Uni in a few weeks. I can still remember those first days of school, not as if they were yesterday exactly but they are vivid enough to bring a lump to my throat when reading your post…

  13. Oh, I felt EVERY single moment of that with you. It just goes by too fast. I still remember all these emotions so vividly, when my youngest, TD left her nursery to go to ‘big’ school and it was 13 years ago! It’s the start of letting go isn’t it? And you know this, as you have 3 older ones, but it seems much harder when its that last one…Big cuddly hugs to you x

  14. that made me cry! beautiful post

  15. mum

    you keep on making cry, felt every moment with you.he will always be your bonus boy.

  16. Oh, this is so beautiful, and I’m crying too. Sending you lots of love and knowing just how you feel. I once read that parenting is like a series of little deaths, and you’re always mourning something. There’s always something new and amazing happening, but every change brings a sense of loss.

  17. How gorgeous! What a beautiful writer you truly are. I have this moment to look forward to / dread in January.

    M2M

  18. Wow! That was just beautiful *eyes welling up. Such great writing! x

  19. Ah, I remember it well😦 But no matter how grown-up they get, the ties stretch: across oceans and years, boyfriends, girlfriends, jobs, disappointments and celebrations. You never really lose them. Thank you for reminding me. Nx

    • Thanks Nettie, I know I am at the beginning of this (my 14 yo will probably be off in 4 yrs time) and that the changes are necessary and part of the process but, goodness, how it hurts!

  20. parklover

    Oh Lordy, this will be me this time next year. Waah!

  21. No words Babe. Huge rolling tears.
    One day we’ll meet and I’ll be able to give you a proper cuddle.
    xxx

  22. tina

    beautiful, braught tears to my eyes!

  23. Oh, how beautiful! I love, love, love this post. Makes me cherish my boys that much more.

  24. Awwwww, sob, pass me a tissue! It’s soooo hard being a Mummy at times. I love the way you wrote this and I can sympathise whole-heartedly.

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