First days

Wednesday was Immy's first day of school. Proper school. BIG SCHOOL. I was fine. Or so I thought. Until we walked her to her class, where she met her teacher, picked out her name tag and strolled over to the nearest table to investigate what they were up to. And just like that, it was done. A quick smile, a quick hug and then instantly absorbed.

Grade 0. Early mornings, and early bedtimes. Uniforms, and school bags, and lunch boxes. She LOVES it. And I'm hoping I'm going to get used to the 5am wakeup time.

Side note: we took these photos the day before the first day of school. Because I didn't want a stressful, rushed, crazy first morning. Just as well, because it absolutely poured with rain the next day. 

Well. There's Granny.

And Grampy.

and Thoko...

and Busi...

and Thelma (with a brief pause in-between because the irrigation system came on and enthusiastically irrigated the words right off the blackboard and all our legs got wet)...

and Nana and Grandpa...

and Jeremy the un-Giant.

Also a quick lesson in how to prune hydrangeas. I should have paid attention as closely as Immy, because I think I have pruned them to death. Literally. I am watching the flower boxes and absolutely willing them to grow again.

The actual first morning. We clicked off about two photos before the rain started coming down in sheets.

I didn't think I would cry, but I did. Of course, I want her to be confident. To be unafraid of new things, to embrace all the wonderful new experiences of growing up, with excitement and joy. To be independent, and curious. But oh. Sometimes I wish I could slow things down. To have just a moment to hold that warm tiny baby against my chest, to breathe her in and fold myself around her and keep her safe from the world.

Instead, I find that now my job is completely the opposite. Instead of holding her tight, I have to let her go, bit by bit. Take her hand and walk her through each new shining experience, to guide her and show her all the magic and wonder that life has to offer. Step back when she feels brave enough to step forward. Always following, always watching, but never crowding. Because ultimately the better I am at letting go, the more space her wings will have to unfurl.

Things I'd like to remember about right now. That she says unrub instead of rub out. Fast backwards instead of rewind. Glitterbug instead of litterbug. Her unbridled enthusiasm for absolutely everything. The way she talks in her sleep, and holds my hand at the robots when we drive. Best of all, the way she tightens her arms round my neck at bedtime, and kisses me hard, and says - I love you mama. You're the nicest mama ever. 

When we left for school,she asked if I would sit in the back with her. Of course I said yes. We held hands, and I looked down and thought: I know it won't always be like this. And that's ok. But I'm sure going to hold onto it as long as I can.

My beautiful girl. We love you wildly and are fiercely proud to belong to you.


Pete said…
I found your blog by looking for something to take to my daughter's Bakerman! (that was 2013 for you guys - I see you've moved to big school now.) All the best for the next stage of the adventure.