I have fully functioning tear ducts, but I just don’t often cry, however I’ve felt like it recently.
In the first ‘Mama Mia’ film, Meryl Streep aka Donna, sings ‘Slipping through my fingers’ as she watches her daughter.
The song starts with memories of her little girl wandering off to school with her satchel and smile and that feeling that from that moment, you are starting to lose them.

My daughter and I love this film, snuggle up on a Sunday morning and watch it. This part has always tugged at my heart strings and made me squeeze her a little tighter.

But, whilst my little girl is still a way off skipping up a Greek hillside on her wedding day, she is in the midst of a big transitional time, moving from primary to senior school.

The new parents evening at Stanwell, only served to whack me on the head with the stark realisation, that very soon, my little girl will be off to big school. 

Becoming a Mum or not is very personal. I have huge respect for those that choose not to. I know those who want to and for all sorts of reasons sadly they aren’t or can’t. I always wanted children and was happily blessed with two.

In a University interview, a tutor asked me if my parents minded me going off to London and leaving behind my small town. Blasé I said, “No, they’ve brought me up to be independent.”

It’s only now as a Mum myself, that I really understand. As a parent, you are raising your chick to have the courage, resilience and life-skills to fly the nest and find their own worms and twigs.

Seems counter-intuitive when every bone in your body is screaming to keep them close, hold them tight and protect them from everything bad in the world.

My daughter is beautiful. I am biased, I know, but she is. Thick blond hair as though Apollo has snapped off a chunk of sunshine and streaked it through; blue eyes full of sparkle and scepticism, an eye roll from them is withering, but never cruel; a brilliant skateboarder and cyclist; strong swimmer; a footballer; interested in science and any band with a guitar playing front man; a love of peanut butter and denim shorts; an endless supply of quick and quirky quips and a heart that is brimming over with kindness and acceptance of others.       

 Above all I am proud of her independence. She doesn’t follow the crowd in fashion or interests. She follows her own path and the respect I have for her for this makes me want to cry, with pride.

The very thing I dread, i.e her flying the nest, she is already on her way to being equipped to do, because besides being beautiful she is brave and brilliant.

I hope once she’s flown away, she chooses to return sometimes, to snuggle in front of a film. I’ll cry about that too, this time with happiness.