Growing pains...

This morning after dropping off my young lady in the school playground I took note of how eagerly she just grabbed her bags and ran towards her class queue. No kiss goodbye, no clinging to my legs and no backward glance. 'So long and thanks for all the fish' mum...

Always independent and never one to mourn my absence throughout nursery and now school, it struck me just how grown up she is for a child who has only been in this world for five years. The whole process of letting go of the baby is very much evident amongst the parents too. It seems the school has been training us parents to let go as well. Whereas Reception Class was very much about parental involvement, the next stage, Year1, is about parents and children separating in what can only be a process of teaching independence and responsibility. At first I was rather put out by being dictated to in this subtle process, but I can appreciate the reasoning behind it. This is preparation for the future. As a parent your job is for life but that unique bond that exists initially between you and your baby evolves and gives way to time and maturity. Part of you is relieved but the other is a little reluctant of letting go. Sure enough, my daughter hasn’t hesitated in embracing her individuality and doing her own thing. I am pleased for her as much as for myself. I’m not sure handling a clingy child is my forte. As much as I give love, comfort and support I don’t believe in mollycoddling a child and allowing for every whim. I have seen parents struggling with such children only to suffer in the long term from frayed nerves and exhaustion. If that were me I would probably head for the nearest airport sans brat. I often get comments on how well behaved my kid is. Aside from luck, I’d like to think we as parents have managed to instil this in her. I firmly believe children are as much a product of you as you are of your parents. We need to be conscious of how we guide them.

For a parent I have a meagre supply of patience. It’s not an automatic thing that you gain once you have a child. If it isn’t there to start with you’re going to have to learn it pretty pronto. I have tolerant days and days where I hold my head in my hands and scream inwardly. Recently the school uniform looks like it’s been to hell and back, I cannot decipher what foodstuffs or substances have been thrown at it, wiped on it or melted into it, but the laundry basket has kept me busy. Then the P.E kit is lost, buried in some classroom jungle or other. Be sure to have a substantial school budget set aside for such eventualities. You can label things all you like; they will still get lost...and what is it with kids and that sour smell they seem to absorb when at school. I do not exaggerate when I say it’s not dissimilar to a wet doggy smell. The bathroom is our best friend!

Every milestone brings with it a new set of things to get used to. When you have a chattering monkey constantly bending your ear morning, noon and night then it takes much to keep me sane. I feel my age too. Her youth and exuberance makes me feel like a third rate donkey after years of hard labour. Then again, she floors me with some of the most hilarious comments and grown-up observations for someone so young. Today I asked her if she had behaved in school. She looked at me and said in her matter-of-fact way:

“Mummy, you cannot always be 100% good. Being naughty sometimes is allowed.”

After mincing over the comment I realised she was telling me that she misbehaved today. When pushed for the reason she eventually revealed that she wasn’t very nice to Adam because he was ‘snotty and annoying’ and wouldn’t leave her alone. I noticed that she stands well clear of this particular young man when in the class queue. If looks could kill then I’d have to blame myself. She’s inherited that from her bad tempered dragon of a mother. Not so long ago she complained about another boy with a similar snotty nose, wiping it on his sleeve much to her distaste and shouting ‘croissant’ in the playground ‘like it was meant to be funny mummy’.  I suggested to her she tells him to use a tissue or gives him one. But she roundly told me that it was his mummy’s job and the teacher’s job, not hers. I was speechless! Fruit of my loins she most certainly is with comments like that. I have a discerning child!

She’s also been obsessed with ‘interrupting’ volcanoes.  She had a nightmare the other night about being stuck and being surrounded by lava. She came into my room on Sunday morning (really early) to whisper in my ear about this godforsaken volcano. For a moment I thought I was dreaming and then bang went my lie-in. Blurry eyed and croaky I half listened to the dream volcano and then just got her tucked into bed with me trying to get her to sleep some more only to be met with fidgeting and tickling. Then it was a swift transfer over to her dad: “Bother him,” I whispered.

I really must stop watching BBC documentaries about the Human body. Although informative and wonderfully presented I find myself weeping for my biology. Our sole purpose in life apparently is to have sex (great), perpetuate our genes as the only way to achieve immortality and eventually die (not so great). We will have fulfilled our biological function and are superfluous to purpose after that.  Well, I’d like to think that I’m more than just the sum of my parts thank you very much. Evolution is such an impersonal process.  Did you know that aside from Pilot whales we are the only species on earth to go through the menopause? How depressing is that! Another milestone to overcome and then it’s osteoporosis, and all manner of issues. Men are fertile to the end of their lives. Women, on the other hand, are subject (to choose but a mere few) sagging breasts, bat wings, cellulite and beards. Yes, beards!!! Our sex hormones diminish and so does our freaking femininity by the sounds of it. Put us outside and we could pass for bearded, garden gnomes. Of all the ignoble things; is it a wonder the beauty industry is a multi-million pound corporation given this physical obsession we have about ourselves? I don’t know any woman who has never complained about some aspect of her body. Never! Although I try to be sensible and pretend I don’t care, I most certainly do. I still have nightmares about the bearded lady who used to come into the library. As for men....most of you will bald. Do yourselves a favour and shave it all off when it happens. Don’t comb over the little that is left, it’s hideous and hugely unattractive. Be bold and go bald. There’s a price to pay for all that testosterone and we have to make the most of our physical lot. Oh, and be sure to watch for ear and nasal hair. Apparently testosterone has no problems fuelling that growth. Let’s hope we chose our parents well. It’s all in the genes.

Ultimately I hope that my moaning about how make-up no longer sits on my face the way it used to because my skin is losing its elasticity and questioning a bar of chocolate because of how fat my arse will look after eating it, will just be an occasional gripe. I will most likely never stop whinging about it as I think that even with the best intentions I’m still a little insecure at heart, even after all these years. I think we all are to an extent about different things. People who tell you they don’t care are telling big fat fibs. Either that or they’re fooling themselves into believing the lie. As much as we laugh at Arabella Weir’s famous catchphrase: does my bum look big in this, it is indeed something we can all relate to in some form or other, hence the propensity for laughing at the comment. It’s true that confidence grows with time and I often wish that my confidence now was more evident when I was younger and had everything going for me. Youth is most certainly wasted on the young.  Now I have my middle age to look forward to and I had better do it with grace, because nothing is going to stop the process. Tempus fugit and before you know it we’re contemplating our demise. I do it now, I’m that morbid. I have woken up anxious and in dread fear of death. I have issues obviously.  I need to get out more! The thing is when I’m in that mood I’m likely to be a little rebellious and not 100% good.  What was it my daughter said....?

“Being naughty sometimes is allowed.” Yes it is, and I may be taking a page out of her book doing just that before long. All these constraints and rules make for a dull life sometimes. I don’t want to face the grim reaper when my time comes with regret in my heart.  Perhaps a game of chess with the personification of death might buy me some time to get used to the idea?