Tag:

school

You’ll always be my baby

written by Lauren

You might be starting school tomorrow but I can still hold you in my arms.

I keep looking at you and asking, with the brightest face I can muster, “are you excited about starting school?” And you look at me blankly, shrug and say, “I’m thinking”

I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask such a silly question.

What I really mean is, “please be excited because then I’ll feel better because deep down *I’m* really nervous”

And what you really mean is, “I don’t know how to say what I feel but if I did I’d probably say I’m a bit nervous too”

I’m scared because when I dropped you off on your first day of preschool… well, it was a really hard day for us all.

So I asked you if you thought you might be scared for your new school, and you said, “I think I might be scared for the first day, but after that, I will be ok”

And I was so proud of your maturity and self-awareness I could barely find the words to tell you.

I was also proud of myself. I’ve helped you get here, and I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of anything in my life.

I’m just proud of YOU. All of you. I’m proud of your strength, your wisdom, your sensitivity, your kindness, your energy, your intelligence, your mind, your laugh, your generosity.

Oh, my clever, thoughtful, sweet boy, when did you get so big? How am I going to let you go?

It seems silly and small. In years to come, I’ll look back and laugh at how anxious I was. I’ll roll my eyes at the tears and emotions.

But I’ll never dismiss the pride I feel today. This is justified. And I know you’ll make me proud every day of your life, even when you’ve done nothing but be you because that’s enough for me.

You’ve survived five years with me. Now it’s someone else’s turn to guide you.

I’ll still be here at night and I hope you’ll still want to hear from your boring mum after spending all day with your cool and infinitely more knowledgeable teacher… but I hope you know I’ll never stop wanting to be your person…your safe place.

Because you might be a big boy now, but you’ll always be my baby. I love you. Mummy xx

February 3, 2019

Going to big school

written by Lauren

He starts big school in ten days.

I’m so excited for him but I’m also not coping.

He’s done preschool so this shouldn’t be that different. But that was only 2/3 days a week and this is EVERY day – so we won’t have any more Mummy-Thuddy days.

But he’s SO ready to go.

But he’s SO little and school is SO big and scary.

But he’s actually a giant and he towers over all the other five year olds. But wasn’t it yesterday he was my baby, falling asleep in my arms?

But he’s aching to learn, and grow, and make new friends. But he’s going to turn into a different person and I won’t be there to watch it happen.

But he needs (and wants) to be independent. But who will cuddle him when he’s upset?

But I’m ready to let him do it. But I also want to keep him like this forever.

But he needs more than just me. BUT HOW CAN THAT BE?

But thank God these holidays are nearly over. But when they’re over, that’s it – it’s the start of 13 whole years of schooling.

But, but, but… Jesus Christ, I’m not ok.

So yeah, that’s my brain right now.

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January 24, 2019

The heartbreak of raising a kid with anxiety

written by Lauren

You’ve just arrived at karate, or swimming, or soccer, or playgroup and all the kids are buzzing around, excited to get going. Except for you.

You’re sitting on the floor with your hysterical child wrapped around your throat, refusing to join in. You’re trying to pry those little hands off your arms as you awkwardly unfold yourself into an almost upright position with an 18-kilogram weight hanging off your neck. You keep talking, whispering how everything’s going to be ok and how they’re going to have fun but they’re now wailing and kicking and EVERYONE is staring.

The other kids, their parents, the teachers or coaches: all staring. Any minute now, someone is going to come up to ‘help’ but it’s going to make everything worse.

The coach comes up to say hi and a little face digs into your stomach.

You smile politely and speak on behalf of your child because you want to look like you’re encouraging good manners but the tears have started to well in your own eyes because it shouldn’t be this HARD to have fun with your child.