In June, we visited our local country school. The school that will take Little Miss from junior infants at a tender age of four years eleven months all the way up to an inconceivable eleven years old and an added seven months. What kind of little girl will she be at the end of this journey? How tall will she be? Will she even sound the same as the baby voice swiftly disappears into the memories I play back in my head? How excited will she be? What new friends will she make? What plans will start forming in her head for what she wants to be when she gets older?
Today I enrolled Little Miss in primary school for next September. Big school. And my heart skipped a beat. If I thought it was bad her starting Montessori, then I’m going to be a mess when she joins the líne with her little friends. Her school uniform perfectly straight and ironed in those first few weeks, socks pulled up to the knee, shoes polished and oversized bag on her back. A right of passage. Growing up.