Monday, September 1. A day I had been dreading since we decided Georgie should attend pre-school. I kept mentioning to my friends and family how wonderfuly excited I am. It will be good for him, they would answer and I agreed. Still, having him by my side for three and a half years meant that separation anxiety was bound to rear its ugly head. It did and last week I fell into the deepest depression hole. I would burst into tears at least once a day and hold him a little longer every night before bedtime. He isn’t going anywhere, papa would say. He’s still your baby. But he’s wrong. And that’s the problem. He’s not a baby anymore.
