Last December I took Annie to see a nativity play at one of the schools we’d applied to. I sat there watching the children performing and found it so hard to believe that in 12 short months that would be Annie up there doing that.
I left the play determined to make the most of the following 8 months with Annie before she headed off to school but life rarely works like that.
Don’t get me wrong, in the intervening months we had loads of fun, great times and play dates with mates but I was having a tough time mentally and we didn’t do as many things as I’d hoped for. I wasn’t the Mum I wanted to be, I was often short tempered and distracted and we didn’t get out of the house nearly enough.
The months flew by and before I could believe it, it was September and I was preparing to hand my daughter over to her teachers. I didn’t find her starting school as bad as I was worrying about, probably thanks to my anti-anxiety medication, in fact I was starting to see the benefits of Annie going off and doing her own thing.
Since September Annie has made lots of new friends, become even more confident, learnt to read, has developed a love of drawing weird / dark / wacky pictures and become a happier kiddo. Yes, she comes home from school knackered and a bit grumpy sometimes, but seeing her read to Ezra or playing in the playground before the bell rings makes up for that.
I’d love to be able to have a do over, to make the last months before school started magical and packed full of fun, family stuff, but I can’t and she doesn’t realise how guilty I feel for letting the first 8 months of the year slip through my fingers.
I am beyond proud of Annie and how well she’s settled into school and found her feet. I can’t wait to go in this morning and watch her in the nativity play, to watch her interact with her friends, listen for her line and have a little sob over the sheer cuteness of the whole affair.
Hands up any other parental guilt sufferers out there!>
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