Dear Bailey,
This has become a little tradition of ours, this little letter writing thing. I love taking this time to reflect on the passing of another year, and try to get down in words all the things I’m feeling for you, so one day you might look back and learn a little more about your dear old mum. If there is one thing I’ve always wanted for you, its for you to know just how loved you are, and hopefully this little ritual will help with that, by filling your heart with little memories we may have long forgotten by then. Most years it’s not a difficult feat, expressing that love. Loving you has always been the easiest of tasks. But this year, while the love is of course there in bucket loads, I’m finding it harder to put into words. It may well be because this post is a long time coming. This year, this isn’t just about you turning another year older. It’s about everything that comes with it, and it’s something I’ve been thinking about pretty much since the day you were born…
Just a few weeks ago you turned 4. As always, there was cake and there were presents and lots of lovely family time. We threw a party with your friends where you danced and played pass the parcel and we all sang happy birthday while you blew out your candles. And it was wonderful. But the whole time a part of my mind was somewhere else, thinking about the fact that just a week later you’d be starting school and a new phase of our lives would begin. I’ve always known this would feel like a big deal, but I’m not sure I was really prepared for just how hard it would hit me in the heart. It’s been a challenging summer, with us having to move out of our home for three months, your Dad starting a new job and multiple changes to your childcare routine. Everything has been up in the air and you’ve handled it all incredibly, but it has meant we’ve been busy and distracted, and somehow, while its been something I’ve been conscious of for the longest time, this momentous moment kind of snuck up on me. I’ve spent the last 4 years watching other parents proudly displaying photos of their little one’s first days, walking past the school at playtime on my our daily dog walks, wondering how it will feel when it’s you and I… and yet with everything else on our plates lately it was only in these last few weeks that it really hit home. I mean, I sobbed on your last day at preschool. I sobbed again when I cleared out your ‘busy bag’ and found the name label from your coat hook and the photo from your first day. But then life would take over and I’d be swept up in a whirlwind of packing and unpacking, updating spreadsheets and calendar reminders of you and your brother’s various whereabouts and generally tending to the needs of three constantly hungry boys. Then, as I began some mindless task – shopping for tiny shoes, washing and putting away your smart little uniform, sticking name labels into everything… – it would suddenly hit me. A huge wave of grief that would knock the wind out of me. Quite what I thought I was grieving, I don’t know, as I’m always so conscious of just how fortunate I am to have carried and birthed three beautiful, healthy sons, but it felt like a loss for sure. A loss, I suppose, of the lovely little unit we’ve become, you and I. I have once again grown accustomed to having you with me over the summer, and I really didn’t want to let you go again. Preschool was just the rehearsal, it seems. This time, this is the real deal, and I don’t feel in any way ready for this chapter to begin.
“‘All in good time, poppet!’ I used to say, and back then it felt like an age away. But just like that, the time has come, and I can’t quite make sense of it.”
You, as always, are handling this far better than me. I’m in absolute awe of the way you’ve adjusted to such a big change, but then I’ve always had a suspicion you would rise to the challenge with an enthusiasm only someone as special as you could muster. Back when you were merely toddling and it was just the two of us we’d take long walks every day, and you would always rush to the school gate through the little forest school at the back and beg me to let you in. ‘All in good time, poppet!’ I used to say, and back then it felt like an age away. But just like that, the time has come, and I can’t quite make sense of it. Where is the tiny boy who couldn’t quite balance well enough to put on his own wellies? Who made me laugh daily with his sweet attempts at new words? Who needed me to stroke his nose to get to sleep? When was it, exactly, that you grew into this young man, full of questions and an eagerness to learn about anything and everything? A young man who just doesn’t need me in quite the same ways any more? It’s baffling, to be honest. Just moments ago you were still sleeping on my chest and running around in nappies, and now here you are, striding out into the world with a confidence that I envy. Being an August baby and the youngest in the year we agonised over whether or not you’d be ready, whether we should hold you back another year. But you’ve shown us in spades just how ready you are, and while a part of me is devastated to see the end of your baby days, I couldn’t be more proud of the person you are growing into.
This last few days though, your confidence has wavered a little. Perhaps the realization that this new school thing is here to stay is kicking in. The rampant explorer in you probably doesn’t relish the thought of being restricted to doing the same thing everyday. But you are also a creature of habit, and I know this routine will bring comfort to you in time. I hope you know that you don’t need to be brave all the time, that Mummy and Daddy will always be here to help support you and guide you. But I know you are going to find your feet and thrive Bailey – you always do. You are honestly the most amazing little person, and I just know you will make your mark on that school the same way you leave a lasting impression on everyone you meet. So keep trucking on, my little one. Keep asking all those questions and approaching every task and activity with curious abandon. Right now it seems like you’re having a bit of a hard time processing your thoughts at the end of the day, but I can’t wait till the day you feel more comfortable opening up and filling me in on all that you’ve learned. Till then I’ll be here, with snacks and cuddles and some quiet time to rest that busy little brain. This is going to be our biggest adventure yet, Bailey. You have so much to offer the world, and I know it will fall in love with you just like we have.
Love always, my beautiful, grown up boy,
Picking the Day 