It is almost, very nearly, that time of year. Despite the fact that the temperature has been barely above mild, and I haven't once sat outside a wine bar, it would appear to be going back to school time. I believe there is less than a week to go. This year however has the added frisson of a brand new school.
My word, the panic. I don't mean D, I mean me. I had a routine, I changed my hours at work and sometimes I could even remember which way I was commuting. And in one fell swoop, it's gone.
I really don't feel as though I've given the whole new school issue the proper thinking time, but then, I can't remember giving anything recently the proper thinking time. We'll have to have a new routine about getting to school, he has to get a bus for goodness sake, and cross a main road. S asked me if I was going to wait at the bus stop with D and I told him such an idea was dreadfully over-protective, but in my head I thought "would it be so bad if I got the bus with him?"
Don't even get me started on coming home. We've decided to stick with the childminder for the time being, but at some point that will have to change, otherwise he'll end up revising for his GCSEs surrounded by toddlers. Then he'll have to cross the main road by himself again, and come home to an empty house. Do his homework, maybe cook his tea, wait for me to get home.
I love the fact he's growing up, blossoming before my eyes, but I can't help remembering how much simpler it was when he sat in a bouncy chair. I remember that I cried quite a lot and had nothing more than a vague idea of how on earth to look after this small being, but at least I was the only one crossing the road.
We need to move to the country.