'But come September....'
These are words emanating from my mouth pretty regularly lately. They are filled with fatigue, hope and longing, accompanied by echoes of my heart breaking just a tiny bit too.
I feel guilty about the relief that my second - and last - child starting school might bring, but I want to hold on to him simultaneously, to these precious moments while he is still little, because, all too soon, he will be bigger, like his brother.
It's four years since the eldest first started, about which I wrote in my diaries - 'It was a profound and moving time and having counted down our last days as things were, I would hold him close to me, sobbing behind his back, so, so, sorry for every moment he had been shouted at or moaned to. We would all miss each other. Things would never be the same.'
But relief soon took over. Those days became normal much more quickly than it would have been possible for a first time mum to envisage. Sobbing aroung the local supermarket didn't last that long *cough.*
There was a baby in tow, and, being a single parent, there was plenty to keep me occupied. Daily pick up would appear swiftly enough.
By the time this September comes, I hope to be able to work, to spend more time on Social Media - ideally, perhaps, to purposefully combine the two, to write for longer stretches, give more attention to books that were begun years ago, and, dare I say it, to be free.
Yet, the heart yearns to be mum again, even though it exhausts me entirely, to be pulled to those baby, toddler, crawling, dawdling days, to be needed, to switch my brain off, but its call is larger, louder, heartfelt even, too.
Many women have longer stretches than I - take Mammasaurus - she is saying good-bye to her having kids at home days after twenty years, eight children down the road! For some it is their first and last (only) child starting school this year - the mixed emotions must be unbearable. Mine are but mild in comparison. I know I will miss my young one. And I won't. Nursery prepares us as well as them!
He is not leaving home (let's not even go THERE), he will just be out a few hours longer and things will be easier.
My heart will ache, but my soul sing, perhaps, my songs and try to remember the person underneath the eight years of squabbles and battles and domestic drudgery and Cbeebies and jigsaws, football and cricket, catching and colouring, painting and play dough.
He will be happy. And yet, but yet... if it were possible to choose to keep our little ones at home....
would you? Could you? I've a funny feeling it's less scary.
Are you saying 'Come September,' too? How does it make you feel?