Today you started preschool. That little sentence does not seem big enough to hold all the emotions it creates inside me. I am letting myself have just a tiny few minutes to feel sad at how quickly you are growing up, when I look at you and see more and more the person you are becoming, and less and less of the baby you were.
“Ok, ‘bye Mum! See you later!” you said, already turning your head to the excitement of other children and rooms full of activities yet to be tried.
I am missing your constant stream of chatter (I never thought I’d say that!), your elaborate imaginative world and games.
I wonder what you will learn away from me? Will I still be able to create magic for you in our lounge-room by turning a cardboard box into a treehouse or a train? Or by spreading out your blue sheet and making an ocean on the floor for us to swim in together as cuttle fish, chased by Sophie, the creepy-crawler fish? How much longer will I be your ultimate resource for providing answers to all your questions? How long until I hear “But *someone else* says …”? How soon until I hear you talking about something and realise I have no idea who told you that, where you learnt that, what made you think that?
Sophie misses you. Taking toys is no fun when there is no-one to take them from. I can’t elicit from her the paroxyms of giggling delight that you do without trying. I am surprised at just how much mischief she is getting into without you here to entertain her. We will enjoy these days together but this first day, it all feels a bit strange with a Hugo shaped hole in everything.
I’m so proud of you.