I've just come home after dropping Pops off for his first school stay and play session. As I walked through the school grounds, I started to cry. I haven't stopped. I'm crying now. Big shuddering sobs actually. I can hardly see through my glasses as I type.
It's been a tough four years. Wonderful. But tough. For many reasons, but mainly the challenge of bringing up three boys of such spread out ages. Their wants and needs are so different, I often feel stretched to breaking point. This week has been difficult in terms of behaviour and issues, and I have dealt with some of it well, some of it not so well and some of it very badly indeed. And when that happens, I'm left questioning my abilities. I'm left wishing for more support. I'm left with an urge to run away. I quite fancy hiding on the Scillies for a week or two.
I'm sure that come September, when Olly is settled and our routine has been established, I'll love the reclaimed freedom that I will have. I know I'll never be bored. There is always something to do, somewhere to go, something to see and someone to have a laugh with. But at the moment I'm letting the tears flow. It's all part of the process.
Excuse me while I grab another tissue.