I have a preschooler.
A son, who goes to preschool.
I can't believe how quickly these last three years have gone.
One minute, I'm relaxed in a birthing pool giving birth to this wonderful 7lb, 7.5oz (yes the .5 matters) baby boy and now I'm stressing everyday, sticking to a routine and getting this wonderful 28lb boy in his uniform and off to preschool on time.
He loves it.
Absolutely loves it.
He goes completely hyper just before we are about to leave.
Well, an hour or so before we are due to leave if truth be told.
"Mummy I love preschool, I really love it. And I love you"
Everyday he says that.
The first day he was due to go I told him that he would be finally going to preschool, we've had questions everyday since his induction day asking if he is going, when he would be going, whether or not it was open and so on.
I told him he would be going after lunch and his reply was "Can I have lunch now?"....It was 9am.
It makes it so much better that when I am handing my boy over to a room full of other teeny people and happy, smiley preschool assistants (what is their official title?) I know that he is eager and desperate to go in.
Although, 3 hours is clearly enough.
When I walk in to collect him his bottom lifts off the seat, he so desperately wants to run over to see me but has to stay on his seat until I've signed my name and have gone to him.
I always get the biggest squeeziest leg cuddles from him.
Which always gets the same "awwwww" reaction from the staff.
He seems very popular with the staff and they all look forward to seeing him everyday which is fantastic.
I couldn't be any prouder of my Preschooler.
Here is Charles on September the 5th 2009
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