The past seven weeks have been pretty special, to say the least, and I have been floating on a cloud that's an equal mix of hormones, a happy baby and - in keeping with the letter of the day - a husband on holidays. I'm pretty sure my own frame of mind made all these things even better, and I'm about to find out how strong that frame really is. All good things, including husband's holidays, must come to an end, and today I flew solo in the morning school run with no reported turbulence. Lunches were made, breakfasts eaten, clothes dutifully worn, hair brushed, teeth brushed, shoes .. check, check, check .. car keys .. check .. baby .. check. There were no tears at school (not even from me) and as I drove home with my one remaining pre-school child, it seemed all eventualities had been accounted for. Then came the surprise. I was expecting noise to come from inside the car, and not from me or the radio. I wanted, and for a split second fully expected, to hear "Where are we going now Mum?". My seven-week-old bundle, oblivious to all but the most basic of earthly needs, did not oblige. And for a moment I was left longing for the passenger I had just left behind, at a stop called kindergarten, on the first leg of her journey.
Time, you must cry farewell, take up the track. And leave this lovely moment at your back. - Kenneth Slessor
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