Tomorrow morning my fourth and final child will stride out in his new shoes, socks, trousers, shirt and jumper with his book bag in his hand and a skip in his step. Buttoned up but not buttoned down.
I will try very hard to be like the lady on the telly who pops her child into a space suit and sends him off on his new adventure. I will smile and encourage, I will deliver him calmly and gently to his class.
I will not hold him to my chest and suffocate him in my not so ample bosom, I will not collapse on the pavement and bawl my eyes out, I will not rush into the classroom yelling ‘I’m not ready for this, give him back!’ Even though I really want to.
He is ready to go. He is excited. He wants to learn to read. I am ready to reclaim a bit of the other me. I have work set up and ready to go and deadlines screaming in my ear BUT… I have been Mum to pre-school children for 14 years and it has been such fun and I will miss it.
We will still make time for flying practice
And for bouncing really high on the big pink bottom
We will still walk with robot legs
And arrest some baddies
We will walk in the sunshine and laugh in the rain. We will build dens and plant stuff. We will make treasure maps and bake biscuits. We will get messy with gloop and chitter chatter while we do it.
But where did the time go?