Feisty little K starts big school in September. Looking back, the last six years have gone in a heartbeat. The girls are only 20 months apart and are now best friends and great playmates. It’s comparatively (to having smalls) easy.
People regularly ask me how I am feeling about her going (and my life changing). I’m flipping thrilled! I’m asked with knitted brows and tilted heads, but I am not even a little sad that my special mummy-time is over. I havent taken great care of me. I don’t do any classes or go out with friends. My life is almost pure mothering and domesticity.
I have very bonded and homely children, who’s first choice is to be on or certainly with me. For a long time, K didn’t like me to speak to people and would grab my face and turn to look at her, furiously whispering about going home. And for the first two years of B’s life she was constantly attached to me. She wouldn’t let another person touch her (often not even her Dad and certainly not other family members or friends). I was either breastfeeding or pregnant for over five years. I am over-touched and over it.
K can’t wait to get to school (she’s also looking forward to being a grown-up and living with her friend Erin in a rainbow shed at the bottom of our garden – another story). We are both looking forward to it, so I don’t feel guilty. I don’t think I will be peeling her off.
I too am looking forward to being a grown up. No-one sitting on my lap. No-one demanding I wipe their bum. Bliss.