His Tiny Hand

My son set off for his first day of sixth form today - fifteen years old and growing like a mushroom.

How did I get to be the mother of a teenage boy who is now taller then me?  Where did those years go?

From the minute they get sucked into the wheels of the school system, it’s practically a blink of the eye and they’re approaching adulthood.

I look back over his school years with fond memories and treasure every moment, even the bad ones.

I remember …

That first day at nursery - both of us bags of nerves.  He never grew to like it and I would always find him waiting by the window for my return.

Starting school - with faithful penguin, ‘Teeth’ (see older post), stuffed in his book bag for comfort.  ‘Teeth’ went to primary school every single day.

The day he decided that he didn’t think much of this school lark and would sob his heart out every morning.  The solution?  To meet his best friend and nanny, and go through the school gates with them.  If only his problems at secondary school could have been solved so easily.

The evening he came home and said “If they make me write the letter ‘W’ one more time …!”  It was soon after that I had the call to say it would be a wise move to put him up an academic year - he was bored.

The time I had to go to the school because he bit his friend on the finger after getting over-excited in a game!  The teacher actually found it funny, and said that he’d been known to do worse things to a friend himself (!), but obviously had to deal with the situation.

Every play and carol service - he played characters from an ant to a granny (in one of my old nightdresses!).  I can feel the tears in my eyes and the lump in my throat.

The Father’s Day card he brought home which displayed the words ‘Happy Farther’s Day!’

The prize giving ceremonies - poetry, handwriting, cake baking, public speaking.  The proud bits of being a mum.

That gut-wrenching feeling when my mobile would ring and the caller display read ‘School’.  Thankfully it was never life-threatening but my stomach would still drop to my boots.

The sad, sad day he left the security of his prep-school ready to head off to the next chapter in his education.

The even sadder days which followed when he developed school phobia (see older post) and was quite simply unable to get himself through a classroom door.

The joy of knowing that the phobia was finally behind him - three long years later.  Seeing him go to school a happy, confident boy with friends.

The pride of knowing that he took his GCSE’s a year early and, with all the problems he’d encountered, he still did well.

Being a mum (even to one) is one of the most mentally exhausting jobs in the world.  You’re learning as you go and constantly doubting yourself.

But boy, is it worth it.

Most of all I remember his tiny hand in mine and how it’s now bigger than mine.

And I know how my mum must feel.

Read all about being a mum who never feels that she belongs. ‘Diary of a Mummy Misfit’ is on Amazon for Kindle, PC or Smartphone with a free app to download.  Now also available in paperback at Lulu.