Today was a bad day.
My little man shuffled off to school looking pale and lethargic and I felt the full weight of mother guilt on my shoulders for getting him up and dressed and taking him there.
He didn’t have a temperature and said he didn’t feel ‘ill’ as such, but I knew he wasn’t himself.
As he slowly walked through the school gate (he normally runs at full speed), I rushed to the fence which separates the mums and dads from their charges and yelled and yelled for him to come back.
I didn’t care who was looking.
“Dan” I said. “Don’t go to school. Come back with me. You can curl up on the sofa and just rest.”
“No mum” he whispered from under his coat hood (he was really cold this morning. He never feels the cold) “I’d better go. I’ll be fine. I’ll ask my teacher to look out for me. Don’t worry.”
And with that he turned his back on me and my grown up seven-year-old disappeared into his classroom.
But I do worry and I don’t mind telling you, I had tears in my eyes (I told you I cry at everything these days).
He came home at normal time. He was fine. He was asking to open his chocolate advent calendar. He was just a little bit cheeky. I was relieved.
I put him to bed and we’re sat chatting and he says: “Were you nearly crying today mum? When you took me to school?”
I laugh and make a joke and we tickle for a while.
Then he turns serious again and says: “Will we have to go in a care home mum. Me and Mia? (they’ve been watching the TV show Tracy Beaker about a girl in a care home).
“No. Why would you think that?”
“Well, you know, you’re quite old now and when you die what will happen to us?”
Oh good god in heaven. I’m 40 not 400.
“Dan, I’ve got another 40 years in me my love. How old will you be in another 40 years?”
“Exactly, and by then you’ll have a house of your own.”
What? I get a house of my own when I grow up?”
“Yes, of course you do.”
He makes a little fist, pumps the air and says: “yessss!”