This week is Mini W’s first week of full-time days at primary school. I can’t believe I have a son who’s old enough to be in reception, but here we are, and there he is, a member of Bumblebees class and embarking on the first steps in what will likely be a 14 year-long journey. His school is lovely (although I hate he has to wear a mainly polyester uniform), and the teachers are great, and there’s an adventure playground right outside his classroom which is a big hit.
The biggest adjustment is spending so much time apart from each other. Mini W went to preschool for a year, but this was only two and a half days a week. Now it’s five days a week, 9-3, and it’s a shock to the system for both of us. I feel incredibly privileged that I’ve been able to spend so much time with him – full time for the first year of his life, then most of the time up until now. But now that period of our life is over, and he’s in the care of the school for 190 days a year. 175 days with him just doesn’t seem enough.
I alternate between relishing these long periods of solitude to get work done, get housework done, pop out for library trips or to the shops without having to factor in taking a small child along. Then the next minute I’m missing him fiercely, wondering what he’s up to and counting the hours til I can pick him up in the playground and witness his little face light up when he sees me.
It’s such a privilege to be the centre of someone’s world. And it’s a massive responsibility, too; knowing that your actions can alter your child’s mood, shape their personality and future. Parenthood is something I have to work at every day – making sure I’m not putting unfair expectations on him, trying to support and help him grow, nurturing his interests, all while keeping my patience and my temper and my sanity, running a house, running a business, maintaining relationships, making sure I do those things that feed my body and soul.
Sometimes I just want to pause time as we are, to re-run the same days over and over, freeze him at various ages. Yet I’m excited to see how Mini W develops, what kind of person he becomes, what books he reads, films he likes. (He will be reading Harry Potter; he has no choice.) And the older I get, the more common I realise this tug of war is – the balance between nostalgia and new adventures, the comfort of the past and the excitement of the future.
Postcards from the Edge (of the West Country) 