A new wound to lick

I've been quiet again, but this time it hasn't just been because life is so ridiculously full (though that is still a factor), it's also because I've been hiding away licking some wounds.

Several times over my life I have just withdrawn completely from my social life. My very best friends understand that I do this from time to time and that eventually I'll pop back up again. They forgive me for the radio silence, ask what was going on and then I tell them about whatever the wound was and they nod and hug and life goes on. It seems that I'm doing that again, but this time it's with my blog.

It's a weird time at the moment. There are endings and beginnings flying around all over the place, bashing me over the head, smashing and creating things willy-nilly. Some of these endings are related to the beginnings. Most of the beginnings are things I can't talk about yet, and are absorbing a lot of my time and attention now, but in time (just over a month in fact) you'll all see what I've been squirrelling away at for the last few weeks.

But there is one beginning that isn't something I need to be secretive about. It's something that happens to thousands of families all over the world, every September.

My little boy started school. He is four and a half years old. And it is killing me.

This is hard to write about, but I'm hoping that if I do, I can reassure you guys that I do still exist and I do still love you and my blog and that I haven't run off to live up in the mountains somewhere and herd goats or something equally unlikely for an asthmatic who hates heights and steep slopes.

It took me by surprise you see, that's why I'm still reeling, even though this is the end of his second week. He went to pre-school for three mornings a week, being in a different building for five mornings a week wasn't going to be such a big deal I thought.

I was so very, very wrong.

It started the night before. We'd all made a big fuss of him for starting school the next day, it was all happy and positive. I put him to bed and carried on checking that everything was ready for the first day; clothes labelled, all that kind of thing.

I was stressed. I didn't acknowledge it at the time, it sneaked up on me. I didn't sleep well. I woke early and worried and then the first school run happened. It's a 35 minute walk to his school, or a five minute drive, but we're keen to keep up the exercise when we can, so we walked. And the whole way, we chattered and he was fine and happy. We waited in the playground until they were invited in and he looked straight ahead after kissing us goodbye, eyes on where he was going and didn't seem fazed at all.

I, on the other hand, dissolved. I managed to hide it until we'd left the school grounds, the hubby and I crossed the street and I just burst into tears. I sobbed. Then we walked home and I went through the morning in a daze, occasionally fielding calls from curious relatives, but mostly being shocked at how much I hurt.

Late to the party

I had severe post-natal depression and only started to come out of it when he was about three years old. In the last year and a half I have come to understand what everyone talks about when they talk about that feeling of absolute, pure, total love you have for your child. Not every second, but a lot, and it's easy to call up. I didn't have that for 3 years. I don't feel ready to write about what I had instead, but suffice to say, I missed out on such a lot. Luckily my little man had many loving people around him, and seems to have come through unscathed (she says with desperate hope) and we have a fantastically close relationship now.

I'm wondering if that's why this has hit me so hard. I think that's part of it, I feel a terrible grief whenever I drop him off at school, but I don't think that's all of it.

The curse of good memory

I remember large chunks of my childhood far too well. At least I think I do. Maybe if I could travel back in time I would see that I've filtered it through dark spectacles, but whatever the truth of it, I have vivid memories of feeling utterly terrified for a lot of the time.

The worst times were when there were lots of other children, all running around and screaming as children often do, and at night. I was an only child, my son is an only child, I see a lot of me in him. When there are big groups of noisy kids he shrinks back, just like I did. He's happy as Larry with adults, just like I was.

And every day, I abandon him in a room with loads of noisy kids, and only two adults, who don't know him. I am wilfully putting him through what I found so hard and the guilt is horrific.

Get a grip woman!

I know I am being pathetic and over-protective. I know that up here, at brain level. But my guts are writhing. I just want to keep him close for just a little bit longer, keep those scary times and awful experiences at bay just a little bit longer. But I can't. And that is for me to deal with, here, in the corner, quietly licking my wounds like some old mangy dog who's seen too many summers. So if I'm quiet for a while, this is why. I'm sure normal service will resume shortly.

Have any of you guys gone through this?