A big week

You know when you talk about things so much that they almost become unreal or just so familiar they lose their sense of importance? Well the past few weeks, even months has been a bit like that.

Oliver starts school tomorrow. We have been excited about this since before he left nursery. They prepared him so well for 'big school' that he'd disengaged from nursery even before the summer holidays started. The pre-school visits in the summer term got him so wound up and eager to go to big school it almost seemed a shame to have the summer holidays at all. And on top of all this, being so busy for the six week break - going on our caravan-ing adventure and then to France to see Nonna and Big G and desperately trying to see as many of our friends as possible - made the holidays wizz by and before we knew it Pip was back at nursery and here we are. Ready to go.

Throughout everything we've talked a lot about heading off into the unknown of big school. About how new everything will be, but also how familiar it will all seem with so many faces Oliver knows. The visits in July were useful for starting a burgeoning crush on Miss Laver his reception teacher, but still now when I'm sitting here contemplating the fact that my little boy is going to proper school, I am gobsmacked. You always nod your head sagely and say 'of course' when the wise parents before you tell you how fast time goes, but you never quite fully believe them. Not until something as monumental as starting school actually hits you like a tonne of bricks. It's like how you never realised quite just how much loving your child hurts - a physical tightness of the chest that you can never, ever get rid of (or want to), somehow even more when you see your children sleeping - or how you can only appreciate how much your parents loved you when you have children of your own.

But I digress. Slightly. Tomorrow a part of me goes with Oliver to school but as he walks towards the school door, I know a part of him is taken from me. Not in a bad way at all, but in a beautiful, amazing way - our boy, our precious boy, is growing up. Becoming more independent. And on his way to being the man we hope, and know, he can be.

Good luck Oliver. Mama and Dada love you very much and are so proud of you.

Blimey, I started this post in a upbeat mood and look at me now. A dribbling wreck. This does not bode well for the school gates tomorrow! Excuse the overly sentimental outburst of this post - how terribly un-British of me - but hey. Stuff like this only happens once.