The Princess started school this week. School! She only just turned three! When she was born, The Boyfriend and I said that starting in nursery school at three seemed very young, and that we would probably just start her in reception class, as she would have only just turned four, which still seemed so very young. By the time she was eighteen months, we knew she would be more than ready for school at three. I almost considered asking the school to take her at two, so practiced was she at answering back, knowing better than her parents, and adopting a sulky pout any fifteen year old would be proud of.
We had a gradual introduction to the school and staff with a home visit, followed by a school visit, and now going into two weeks of afternoon sessions with only half of the class present, then a week of long mornings, before finally going into full school days. This has definitely made the whole introduction to school very easy and nowhere near as traumatic as I was anticipating, but the two-hour afternoons are a pain in the rear-end when it comes to fitting in work and other such inconveniences. Logistically it will be so much easier when the full days start. But the place is just so much quieter and emptier without my little girl – this is noticeable after only three days of two hour sessions. When the real school hours kick in, I’m not sure Pea and I will know what to do with ourselves. In fact, I think the boy will be lost without his sister. He only has to be awake five minutes in a morning before he is scanning our bed for signs of The Princess, and on the rare occasion she is still in her own room, he shouts her name over and over again, getting ever louder and sterner, like a master summoning his dog. Six hours every day without her by his side, in his sight, might just break his tiny little heart.
Time for number three, maybe?!
Yesterday saw The Boyfriend and I become Uncle and Aunty for the first time. The Boyfriend’s elder sister gave birth to a gorgeous boy, another big baby at 9lb 4oz (I always knew it was The Boyfriend’s genes that were to blame for the humungous children I carried and birthed), name yet to be decided. It is a very strange, and very honourable, feeling, having a nephew. The Princess is ridiculously excited to have a cousin, although I’m not sure she totally grasps the concept, as she handed me my pyjama bottoms yesterday, announcing it was my baby cousin. Confusing familial relations aside, she and I can’t wait to meet the new arrival this weekend.
And finally, the Mama of the piece. Pea added to his rather tiny but ever-growing repertoire of vocabulary this evening, and uttered “Mama” while pointing to my knee. It happened once, and some little niggle is telling me it was pure coincidence, but I am choosing to ignore this annoying niggle and believe that at last Pea has learned that he and I are not one in the same being, that I am separate, and that I am not Dada. Even if it was not meant for me, it will make a change from the aforementioned Dada, the almost constant utterance of his sister’s name, the “MmmMMMM” (cow), “BA! BA! BA!” (sheep), “Brpbrpbrpbrp”(said in a very high-pitched squeak on seeing a bird, or looking up at a tree or the sky and expecting to see a bird), and “Brrrrrm brrrm” (car, van, bus, train, aeroplane). Not that I do not enjoy hearing any of these ‘words’, in fact I love it, I am just trying not to take it personally that despite breastfeeding and slinging and co-sleeping with this boy of mine for over fifteen months, he has made not one attempt until tonight at acknowledging my presence, other than to pull at my clothes and smack my chest to indicate his need for milk. I am clinging on to tonight’s “Mama” with more urgency than should be necessary.
That’s been my week so far. How’s yours looking?