So when the big day arrived and she said she only felt happy. I was relieved for her, but more than a little concerned as her voice was rough, scratchy and soft. She had a cough and said she was sick.
Children's paracetamol went down the hatch. I recommended just a half school day and she agreed. She couldn't miss her first day of school.
There seemed to be more adults than children in the classroom. Her teacher said hello to her and her buddy led her away to her seat. I made the arrangement to pick her up at 12 noon. Little Miss looked about her wide eyed. I pinned her name tag on her. She touched a laminated chart in front of her. Her name was amongst the information it held with the days of the week, the alphabet, left and right and lots of sight words. The teacher took control of the room announcing that it was time to go to prayer. Then I watched helplessly as Little Miss lined up, holding the hand of her buddy and walked away.
I kept it together. The lump in my throat threatened my composure. Her Dad looked teary, we rushed our goodbye and then I followed Little Miss's class to the church. Watching her chat and walk confidently away from me I felt proud. That thread that held us together was still intact, just being pulled and stretched to a new length. A length I wasn't sure I was really comfortable with yet.
In the church the children lined the pews, their uniforms making them one. I couldn't distinguish B or Little Miss from any other child. But I could see her teacher. I wondered how on earth one teacher could ever look after so many children all at the same time, maintaining order while learning about the characteristic of each little person entrusted to them. As the assistant principle lead the school in prayer and song, I made my own wish, just to keep her safe.
Being the occasion that is was, the new reception children were asked to come to the front of the church and be introduced to the school. These were the special new children, who we would all need to take care of. Then I saw her, holding her teacher's hand. As her name was called out for the whole school to hear she raised her hand confidently. I made some kind of noise and had to swallow that lump.
Prayer finished, the children filed back to their classrooms. I managed a swift, "Have a great day see you at 12" as she rushed past me. Walking alone back to my car the lump was back. It grew and I let it.
I welcomed 12 o'clock and signed myself into the school. She noticed me at the classroom door and gave me a disappointed look. The teacher told her I was here to collect her and I added, "Only if she wants to come." And Little Miss in a big clear voice told everyone, "I want to stay at school." Her declaration made me so proud, relieved that school was enjoyable to her and she wasn't sick anymore, but at the same time I felt devastated. Why does every achievement and passing milestone in her life, take me for six and leave a hole that she used to fill. Well at 3 o'clock she wont have any choice in the matter, how I long for 3 o'clock.
For the last eight years my life has revolved around the children. From those first shocking 6 weeks with a new baby B till this day I have had a child holding my hand everyday. I've been there to answer to "Mummy" and considered their every need. Holding their hands I feel so proud, I have been able to lead them forward, guide them through obstacles and their trust lies in me. As she now holds the hand of others, her trust widens, she will be influenced and led differently and she will be all the richer for it. My hands will still be held, just not so much. So now with both my children at school, the hours between 9am and 3pm offer me respite, freedom and a chance to be someone other than Mummy. But who will that be?
