There are days when I crave just a few minutes peace.
There are times when I wish I could dash into the supermarket without it becoming a slow crawl round, while we look at EVERYTHING, while we struggle to get past the toy aisle, while we race past the treat aisle and when we are at the furthest point you realise you need to do a wee and it just can’t wait.
There are times when I wish that the trip to the bank didn’t involve the promise of a bribe just to keep you quiet.
These aren’t my proudest parenting moment but they are honest ones.
And there there are days when your face, and mine, light up at the announcement that today is a ‘mama and me’ day.
That delighted smile,after your sisters are dropped off, and you declare that we should go for babychinos, just the two of us.
There are times when the often crowded trampoline is occupied by just us, when you ask me to bounce you ‘all the way to the moon’.
We potter together, just you and I, my constant little shadow, your small hand in mine, and nobody is stealing your attention.
These are lucky days, these are days your sister’s didn’t have, there was always someone smaller, someone who also needed my attention. These are the true gift of being youngest.
And you bask in the uninterrupted attention, you revel in the delight of one on one time, you milk every last moment and you *may* be spoiled as a result!
But this Friday marks the end of these sometimes stressful but mostly glorious ‘mama and me’ mornings.
A whole 10 weeks of summer holidays means that we will be the fabulous five on my days off or the super sixes when daddy is off too.
And then in September you follow in your sisters footsteps and begin Montesorri.
I know you will love it ( although you still seem to be in denial about it) and I know you are ready.
I’m ready too, it’s been 8 1/2 years of always having at least one, but mostly more, little shadows with me for every part of my days at home. I have loved it but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a small bit excited at the idea of 3 1/2 hours to myself on these days.
But equally I know there will be mornings I will walk down the street and put my hand out and no small, chubby little hand will grasp it, I will go to the butchers and I won’t get the lollipop treat from the lovely lady there, and I will go to ‘our’ coffee shop and will stumble over my order, because an Americano sounds so lonely when it has always been followed by a babychino.
Parenting is an ongoing celebration of firsts, but it is also a heartbreaking trail of lasts.