My hand hovered over the send button for some time.
My baby’s school application was almost sent but I needed a moment to breathe through the last three years and just adjust, to let his hand sit a little looser in mine.
I thought of all the times I’d felt short tempered with him, all the moments I’d asked him to wait while I finished a text and my heart hurt. Because in less than a year he won’t be all mine. Yes he goes to nursery but somehow that’s cocooned in a preschool bubble of safety – there are babies and nap times and cuddles.
Do they even get cuddled at school? What if he gets worried and forgets where the toilets are? What if someone says something that upsets him? Will someone help him with his lunch if he gets in a muddle?
I pressed send because life has no punctuation. We can’t pause for a year or two – it’s a continuum of constant change. Some is seamless and some leaves me bereft and slightly lost. Will he still call me mummy when he’s at school? Will he want his hair cut short because someone older says he should?
I’m used to that little piece of my heart that escaped when he was born, dancing around the house, playing at nursery and splashing in puddles. I know I’ll get used to the next bit but for now I need to indulge my sense of loss because, quite frankly that send button was the moment I saw him dancing on his own.
I just hope he can open his bloody lunchbox!