My baby boy had his first day of school yesterday. There were no tears, from him either. I was extremely proud of both of us to get through the day intact. It’s only now, with him firmly tucked into bed, with his teddy and his tractor sheets, that I’m getting a bit weepy. There’s something about them sleeping that turns the clock back, the deep breathing, little hands with relaxed fingers, lips like a cherub. That morning he looked so grown up. He got himself dressed, blue polo shirt, navy shorts, his socks pulled up to his knees. One of his older sister’s friends commented on how “handsome” he looked when she saw him at the school gates, and he did too, but I’m biased. Handsome, and grown up, and ready for this new part of his life.
The night before was a little restless, some semblance of a storm passed through, and he wandered to our bedroom in the middle of the night like he’s wont to do. I took him back to bed and snuggled with him for a little while, falling into that sleep where you’re not really asleep but your body is at rest, and a couple of hours later, ready to return to my own bed, I stirred and tried to make my move. Please stay mummy, he asked. And so I did. I wanted that last night with my baby, wanted to turn back the clock to those 4am feeds when we’d have the whole world to ourselves, to before that when he was hidden away in my belly. He’s a tough little nut, always ready for a rumble, but he’s still my baby. At orientation day last year, he got hit by a wayward soccer ball on our way in and started to cry, come on mate, you’re tough I said, I might be tough mummy, he said, but I’m only little. He was right. He is. You forget that sometimes with the second child. You expect them to be as switched on as their elder siblings, as able to cope, to be as wise and knowing. You forget that they’re five, not seven.
I’ve spoken to a few mothers about this. How it’s harder to send the youngest to school. Perhaps because it represents the end of a certain stage of your life as well. You’ve got all the kids through the baby years, the toddler years, through preschool. It was hard work, but you loved every minute of it and now you’ve packed them all off to the care of others, entrusted them five days a week to teachers who will have some control over the direction of the rest of their lives. What role should you play now?
But it’s more than that. I missed his company yesterday. He’s been a great little mate for a couple of years as he’s accompanied me to the supermarket, or when we’ve cruised bookshops, or headed out to whack golf balls. It’s been good fun to have these two years with him, with his sister in school. She had them too but at the other end of her life, two years alone as a baby. He got the better deal if you ask me. I’ll miss him.
Which is probably why I crawled into bed next to him. I didn’t want to let him go. But when he rolled over in the morning and flashed me that smile, kicking his little legs around like he did as a baby when he had a bellyful of milk, he looked at me and said, mummy I’m going to be learning today, it was then I knew I had to let him go.