I’ve been experiencing a weird sort of parenting grief the last couple of weeks, one which hit me totally unexpectedly.
My daughter Florence finally starts school in September (I say finally because she has the attitude of a 16-year-old in a four-year-old’s body). Until recently, my mind has been busy counting down to the day I am no longer paying nursery fees, after shelling out huge sums every month for the past six years. The joy of knowing we will have a bit of breathing room in our finances without a bill the size of a second mortgage is the most amazing feeling.
But last week, the realisation of what Florence heading off to school actually means for me hit me like a juggernaut, and I’ve been in a bit of an emotional spiral ever since.
I have been fortunate enough to have at least one weekday off to be with the kids ever since I returned to work after having my son Alfie almost seven years ago. We have always made good use of that time by going on lots of exciting adventures together, making new friends and hanging out with old ones, travelling to see family, screaming on roller coasters in adventure parks, watching movies, baking and cooking together – the list of activities is endless.
Then, two weeks ago, an email arrived in my inbox detailing Florence’s settling in plan for school. As I read through the various dates while adding everything to my diary, a wave a sickness came over me. My heart just dropped.
The realisation that things were about to change hit me hard. For the past seven years, I’ve had one of my little besties by my side, one-on-one, at least one day a week. That is about to come to an end. As each week passes, we’re getting closer to September and the door closing on that stage of my life. I’m struggling to find the words to describe just how painful that is for me.
In fact, I’m sitting writing this in a coffee shop, having just finished the school and nursery drop-off, trying really hard not to break down in tears. That’s how hard and confusing this new chapter is to me. It’s not as though I won’t hang out every weekend with my children, but it has been incredibly special for me to spend one-on-one time with each of them, individually.
The first time round with Alfie was mostly me trying to find my feet as a working parent: balancing the late-night shifts in the office with the need to dig deep and find the energy to make those days off fun for him. It was also about learning to make and cultivate new friendships with other parents.
The second time round with Florence was different, as things tend to be when you become a veteran in the parenting game, but equally as fun. During that time, both of us were developing friendships with other families who also have a parent off on a Wednesday. Those mornings together brought us both so much joy. It doesn’t matter how heavy and busy work is, those Wednesdays were a moment to pause and spend a day full of fun and laughter. As a parent, I love them with all my heart.
But everything has to come an end, I suppose, and as parents far deeper in the kid game tell me, there are plenty more stages that I’ll find heartbreaking to close the door on as my children grow up. It’s the part of parenting nothing can prepare you for. You spend so long worrying about the getting pregnant bit, and the taking them home and keeping them alive bit, that it’s easy to forget that there are more moments to come that will squeeze at your heart, and that those moments will keep coming for the rest of your life.
I know I’m not having any more kids because of my age, and I’m guessing my reaction to Florence heading off to school is me coming to terms with the fact that the small-child stage of my life really is over. As much as the little children stole my sleep, sent me slightly mad, and at times made me feel like I’d never make it out, I’ll miss having a little person by my side during the week.
Charlene White is a presenter for ITV News and Loose Women