The Toddler has left home. Well, that is what it feels like to me. He has started his first few mornings at our village pre-school and has officially entered into the world of planting, painting and play dough.
I had spent the last few days of the holidays preparing him and myself for his departure. He was fairly oblivious about where he was going and simply assumed he was to put on a school uniform, grab a pack lunch and join his siblings at their primary school. He was a little bemused as to why he was not given a book bag like the others but merrily climbed into the car chanting, “My going to school.”
My heart began thumping as we approached the gates. He ran ahead excitedly with his little knap sack attached to his back, containing his essential muslin square, known as ‘Muzzy’. Did he realise that his Mummy was about to ‘hot foot’ it to the car in a few moments? He merrily hung his coat up and launched himself into an assortment of tractors laid out on a nearby table. I gave his small cradle-capped head a kiss goodbye and left, not daring to turn round for fear I might dissolve in tears. As I walked towards the car, I had a sudden urge to sprint back to the school, scoop up my baby and take him home forever. Having longed for the day that I had a few hours to myself, I now felt like a spare part, with no small hand to hold and no car seat to belt up.
Back home, I tried to busy myself around the house. The phone rang and I took a flying leap to answer it with a breathless, “Yes – is he alright?” A cheery salesman asks me when I last replaced my windows. “I can’t talk now. I need to keep the line clear.” I said. For the next couple of hours I aimlessly wandered round the house, periodically glancing at the clock and wondering whether I should drive past in the hope I might catch a glimpse of his little auburn head in the playground. Instead, I drained three cups of coffee and ploughed my way through a packet of digestives.
I excitedly arrived at the pre-school 15 minutes early. As the clock struck midday, I had to stop myself from breaking into an Olympic sprint to reach the door. There he sat patiently waiting in his little coat, clutching his bag. He came out smiling, eager to tell me about the biscuit and apple he ate for snack. I wanted to cradle him in my arms but the few hours of pre-school seem to have matured him already. He pulled away from me, took a flying leap into the nearest puddle and said, “My didn’t miss you Mummy.”
