The Joy and Pain of Being a Mother...

I always felt from the moment I found out I was pregnant with Ben that motherhood was going to be a series of "letting go" moments.

The thought of being pregnant had always horrified me; being so huge that you had to hoist yourself in and out of a car and, horror of horrors, wear elasticated waist maternity clothes...well, it simply did not bear thinking about. In fact, the reality for me was that I loved every minute (well, every minute after week 13 when I lost the constant nauseous feeling that followed me everywhere I turned).

The bigger I got, the more I loved it. I was subconsciously screaming out to the world "look at me! I am hugely pregnant with child! Spell my name W-O-M-A-N".

It occurred to me at around month seven that I was loving the fact that it was just me and this little tiny being inside of me. I was his everything; I was giving him life. We were joined in every sense possible. Nothing prepared me for the experience of creating another human being.

I commented to my mother towards the end of my pregnancy that I loved the fact that whilst I was pregnant, it was just me and the baby. Once that cord was cut and he was here, I was losing part of him.

And that is how it has continued. Today he started school for the very first time.

He looked resplendent in his tiny uniform; grey pressed trousers, pale blue polo shirt, smart polished black shoes. My boy. Ready to take on the next big adventure in life.

I fully expected that I would shed a bucket full of tears at the moment that I left him with Miss Cook, his new teacher, but there were none.

After four and a half worrying yet blissful years I realise it is a mother's lot to prepare her child as best she can, and then let him go.

However, sat here with my glass of Rioja, I can feel those postponed tears welling up.

Here's to my magnificent boy.