A whole new routine

This week was a big week in our household; our baby boy started nursery school. It may not be a big deal for a lot of families, but having never left Henry with anyone other than my mum, it was for us. We aren't the type to leave the boys for a few days or to go on holiday without them, I'm used to having Henry with me wherever I go and I've been really lucky to never need to childminder, babysitter or a nursery for him with such a helpful and willing Marmar just up the road. So it really was a big deal for us. I didn't know how he'd be; whether he'd tell a stranger he needed the toilet or if he was upset or sad, whether he'd ask for help or listen to instructions even. It was completely unknown for us and as his first day approached I was dreading it more and more. The night before he started I cuddled him that bit tighter, kissed his blonde curls and it felt like no time at all since I'd been kissing his wispy baby hair in the hospital just after he was born. The last 3 years came flooding back and tears pricked in my eyes as I lay in bed thinking about how quickly my baby has grown up. Grown into the most beautiful, gentle and kind little boy. I adore him, so much more than I ever believed was possible. And now it was time to trust a total stranger to care for him. To me, that was a really big deal.

Meanwhile, unaware of my emotional meltdown at the prospect of kissing him goodbye at the school gates, Henry was laid back as ever about the whole thing.  He was mostly looking forward to wearing his new school shoes (that flash, no less) and didn't appear to have a care in the world. I dressed him on Tuesday morning, still wondering whether he'd be heartbroken when he realised that I wasn't going to be staying with him. Daddy came along for moral support, he too really emotional about leaving our baby with total strangers. We walked up the path together, me gripping Henry's hand tighter than he would have liked, him stomping along to make his shoes flash and Daddy trying to act tougher than he felt. Once we were inside they wanted to make it as quick as possible, understandably, and before I knew it I was kissing my baby boy goodbye and walking out, as bravely as I could manage but with tears pooling in my eyes. Mr B made the mistake of looking back and saw our little boy standing on his own looking a bit bewildered, with his key worker talking to him. He said that that's all he could picture in his head all day, our little boy looking a little bit lost in his new environment. He went in without a fuss, which pretty much sums Henry up. He does what he's supposed to do, he's not a fusser or a rebel, he just gets on with it and that's exactly what he did on Tuesday morning.

I went to pick him up an hour later and he was all smiles, telling me he'd had a lovely time and he'd painted me a picture...as if that wasn't obvious enough from the red paint which he'd managed to cover his white collar with. Y'know, the new white polo shirt that had never been worn before. Thank god for bleach is all I can say! And that was that. A few more snippets of information about a few crying children and you'd think nothing out of the ordinary had happened; it was just no big deal to him.

He went in happily the next morning and has done all week. We've had snippets of information here and there and that's the thing I've found hardest, not knowing what he's been up to for 3 hours of every day, it's just not what I'm used to. What we do know is that he loves snack time, has eaten raisins, a yellow apple ("even the skin") and a pear. He has friends called Charlie and Joey and he's managed the toilet fine by himself. He has to wiggle his fingers when the teacher wants them to be quiet and she rings a bell for snack time. Oh, and he has to cross his legs on the carpet. I know he's played in the sand and got sandy hands, he's painted pictures and played in the kitchen, but that's all he's willing to divulge for now and that's okay. It's something I need to get used to as he grows up. Its sad that I've had to let my little boy go a tiny little bit, sad that I've had to let him be that little bit more independent. But bittersweet too because I can see that he's so ready for it and he really doesn't need me as much as I'd like.

What is nice is the routine that we've now found ourselves in. The early morning alarm isn't great, but what is great is having us all up and dressed by 8am. Archie is in more of a routine already, bedtime is at 6pm every night and we have loved our lazy afternoons together this week. It's been one of my absolutely favourite weeks of maternity leave so far, despite us having been to nowhere majorly exciting, not having spent much money and having been Henry-less for 10 hours of it. And what I love most of all about our day is picking my little boy up at home time. I love the feeling I get walking up the path to school, I love peeking through the window and seeing him sitting in a circle with the other children, listening to a story. I love seeing his little face light up when he sees me and giving him a huge squeeze as I help him with his coat. That 2 minutes makes it all worth it and sadly I won't get to do that bit when I go back to work so I'm making the most of it for now.

And just like that we have a new little life, a new weekday routine and new habits to settle in to. It wasn't anywhere near as bad as I expected, it's been lovely to spend time with just my baby boy too and I know that I'm going to love our mornings together, just the two of us, just as much as our lazy afternoons all together as a three.

I'm so very very proud of my big boy this week. My three year old who was so quietly confident about the whole thing. Confident that we'd be back for him, that there was nothing he couldn't do. If only I could slow down time a bit; I have a feeling that this 'letting him go' thing is going to keep rearing its ugly head in the years to come and I don't like it one little bit.