This morning I stood at the side of son number one's school hall and watched his Year 1 assembly (and a big thank you to my twin mummy friend who told me about the show and made sure I didn't miss this seminal moment in his school career). My boy played the part of a pig with aplomb and panache, I am sure there could be a career ahead of him treading the boards, but apart from this Thespian talent the big thing that hit me was how grown up he looks and acts.
Just 12 months ago he was in the yellow uniform of a Reception child and sat and squirmed through performances. As soon as he spotted a parent in the milling throng he would be waving, blowing kisses, shouting out 'I love you mummy and daddy'. This year I got a reserved wave and coy smile before he turned back to whispering and giggling with his friends.
He looked so tall and handsome in his white school shirt and tie, nothing like the tiny, yellow clad little ones who had come to watch the big children's play. It's hard to believe how much my baby has changed in just one year. I will admit to a strong pang of nostalgia for that little sqidge of a child, but to be honest I am proud of how my boy is growing so independent.
I waited behind to give him a sneaky cuddle after the show, and while he was happy to curl himself into my arms and let me kiss his thatch of curly blonde hair, he was soon pulling away to get to the playground with his friends. This time last year he would have been clinging to me in tears, begging me not to leave him. I can see that in a few years, perhaps even next year, I won't be permitted these public displays of affection with my adored boy, so I am just happy to take what I can, while I can.
I love to see him growing up, becoming a boy and no longer my baby. I love that he has his own life with his own friends that is entirely independent of me, I know how important my own private life was to me when I was growing up. The friends you make take you through all the ups and downs your parents can never truly share in and they are essential to a happy childhood. I wouldn't wish for a boy who still clung in tears to his mummy when he was too old for it to be appropriate, but I will admit that I do miss the tiny boy for whom it was entirely appropriate.
My darling boy is so handsome and clever, so perfect to me and a source of such pride and joy, I revel in each new experience he brings into my life, but I am afraid that I will always cling on, silently weeping, to my memories of him as a baby boy. Ah well I shall just have to gracefully accept my starring role as embarrassing mother, as clearly it is the part in his life that has my name written all over it.