This week Sonny Jim is going to start pre-school.

He’s almost two and a half, it’s only for two mornings a week and it’ll do my rather shy little lad the world of good.

But, however I dress it up, for me it’s a big HUGE (I’m channelling Julia Roberts here) thing.

It’s my boy’s first real steps of independence. Of venturing out into the world without mummy (or daddy) there to hold his hand. It basically marks the end of his babyhood.

And although I think he’s so ready for it – I’m not sure I am.

In this respect, I don’t think it makes any difference what age your little one first starts nursery/pre-school/school – it’s still a wrench.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m looking forward to there being a few hours a week where I can throw myself into work, where I can have a hot chocolate without sharing half of it, where I can go to the toilet on my own.

But that doesn’t stop my heart from aching a little bit at the thought of Sonny Jim being off facing little challenges without me.

What if another child is mean to him? What if he gets upset? What if the (oh so lovely and approachable) staff don’t understand what he’s trying to say to them? Will they know that when he says no he sometimes means yes? That he’ll join in with everything if you just give him a little bit of time to understand what’s happening? That mess and spilled things worry him?

I know I’m not alone in these worries. And I know it wouldn’t be any easier if I left it another year, or another two. But I so, SO want to press pause on his growing up for a little while.

And that’s not just because it’s going to take me a while to figure out how to label EVERYTHING… But because before I know it he’ll be at proper school, and then secondary school, and then all grown up.

And I miss my baby already.