First Day

Today, at 9am, my daughter starts Nursery school.

She had been attending pre school for a few hours every afternoon for the past term.  Her initial upset (which started on the second day and lasted for the next fortnight) abated quickly. Mine never did, and I could be found sobbing pathetically after I had dropped her off.  Every afternoon.

This is now, finally, my chance to "escape" her.  She can go to child care on site after she has finished her morning nursery session.

I could get a proper day time job, stop working a ridiculous night job and actually do something tangible with my phD, re-train, get on, have a grown up life.

*Whispers.*

I don't want to.

I don't want her to go. I want her to stay with me, driving me crazy, being bonkers, flashing me a smile that will and can break hearts, that always breaks my heart as she twists me round her little finger and pushes my hair out of my eyes when it flops in, rubbing my "hurts" when I drop something or fall over, helping me cook, drawing on the walls, throwing things in furious three year old rage, telling me off, making me laugh, making me believe that I can be a good parent, making me want to be the best person I can be, to be a sterling example to her.  I want to be her hero, because she is mine.

It hurts to think of her not with me.  I don't want someone else to get her best laughs, to provoke the throaty chuckle that starts in her toes and spreads up through her body, through every pore.  Those are mine.

I don't want her to wink at other people in the exagerrated way of the toddler, making her entire face a pantomime performance.

I don't want anyone else to get my kisses, or the big tight bear hugs she gives out.

I don't want to let her go.  I have to, but I don't want to. I must let her hand drop, smile, be brave, and pretend that I don't care that she is there, even though I will be counting the seconds, the minutes until my bonkers blonde bird throws herself into my arms and I can start complaining about how bloody loud she is again.

So ends this phase of parenthood for me forever - mothers hold their children's hands for a short while, but their hearts forever.