We have less than two months left, fifty five days, until Dylan starts school. It has come around far too fast, it feels like only last week I was holding this small person in my arms, not knowing what to do with him, overcome with amazement. I can still hold him in my arms, but he doesn't sit so neatly anymore. There are longs limbs hanging over the side, a head full of hair, and a weight I struggle to carry. He is tall, broad and smart. He is nearly four, and we have two months of freedom left.
When he was born, we had all the time in the world. I would waste days just walking with the pram, just laying next to him on the floor, just cuddling in bed, refusing to get up. He was my baby, my first born, and I couldn't imagine him being any older than he already was. These four years seem to have crept up on us, and I now have a 'preschooler'. I can no longer call him a toddler. He will always be my baby, but this boy, my son, is a child now.
It is two months until he will be dressing in a little white polo shirt, smart grey trousers and a navy sweater, a bookbag in hand and excitement in his eyes. Two months until he marches off into his classroom, full of children he doesn't know, and although he will do it confidently, it is such a big change for him. He started preschool in a class of friends, but he starts school alone.
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