I had the joy of picking Ruben up from school for the first time yesterday.
I start work hideously early to be able to run away at a feasible hour. Butterflies swarm in my stomach during the bus trip across the city to reach the car, worried I wouldn’t make it in time. A brilliant parking spot and I arrive at his classroom 10 minutes early, and stand outside with the clique of mothers who are able to perform this duty every day. They chatter about their loose plans for the week ahead, and as I listen the butterflies change their hovering spot, flying up around my heart.
My little boy’s brown eyes light up when he spots me as he wanders down the ramp from the classroom. I hastily swipe away the tears, feeling silly. Such an every day event for many mothers, such a special one for me. He pulls out a painting of a sheep, full of smiles, and I can’t help picking his big four year old body up for a real hug. We walk slowly, holding hands. I feel the sunshine on my neck and the pressure of his little hand in mine, and I savour these few minutes of quiet between us.
Image: Ruben on his first day. I felt blessed to be able to drop him off then, too.