When William started school I was bereft. He was growing up too quickly, five
days a week was too much time to be apart and no-one would look after him the
way I could. When Scarlett and I left him on his first day, I was crying, she
was crying ("I want my brubber!") and we clung to each other like
extras in a Made for TV melodrama.
And now she's going too.
I thought it might be easier second time around. She'll be going to the same
school as William so I know the ropes. I know what uniform to buy, which
playground to wait on and exactly what we can and can't put in their lunch
boxes. I also know that, even if she finds it hard to settle, she will get
there eventually and will make friends, enjoy learning and take part in as host
of activities I couldn't hope to replicate at home.
But this time I’ll be walking away from
the school gates on my own.
Don’t get me wrong, there’s a big part
of me looking forward to the two days a week I’ll have at home alone to get the
shopping done and clean the house. (Sorry – Dan was standing behind me then.
Obviously I meant read books and watch Escape to the Country.) But there is also
another largish part which mourns for the time that Scarlett and I have had on our
own these last two years. Drinking latte and babycino at Costa, trying on shoes
and dresses we didn’t intend to buy, visiting friends on maternity leave and
cuddling their babies.
There is the temptation to fill the gap
with another baby. I've reached the age when my ovaries are chucking out my
last remaining eggs in the style of me emptying the cupboard under the stairs
and I think they must be triggering some ‘now or never’ hormone which makes me
weep at the sight of newborns. Nevertheless, as I am pretty sure my parenting
abilities wouldn’t extend to more children than I have hands, I have to accept
that there will be no more babies in the house.
However many children you decide to
have, there will always be a ‘last one’ and when that one goes to school, it
signals the end of an era. High chairs and stair gates are a distant memory,
pushchairs have been sold or given away and every time they climb on your lap
for a cuddle, you hold them tightly knowing that, this too, will not last
forever.
Many things are easier with a second
child. Nappies, feeding, knowing how many spoonfuls of Calpol they can have in
a day. But, as I look at the brand new pair of black patent shoes by the door, I
find that the second time of the ‘First Day at School’ is no easier than the
first. In fact, it is a lot more difficult.
On Monday, when she puts on that blue
checked dress and goes into school, my heart will be bursting with pride, but
it will be breaking a little too. I will be dropping off my baby and collecting
my grown up girl.
