Julie Jay: Forget their first day of school, the second day is the real test of fortitude

Whilst I was all tough talk on the first day of school, the second day was for me, the moment when I seriously considered scooping up my newly initiated junior infant and making a break for it

Julie Jay: "Everyone had prepared me for the emotions on day one, but on the first morning I had surprised myself with my steeliness, as we quickly grabbed a pic before Number One ran off to play with his friends"

Despite already attending an open day, nothing really prepared me for my son’s first proper day of school, when the uniform had been carefully laid out the night before and the lunchboxes filled with his meticulously curated content of grapes, cheese, a sandwich, coupled with some breadsticks, because we had travelled in Europe.

Even though Number One knew a rake of his classmates before going in, it was still surreal to see him milling around in the schoolyard surrounded by new faces and in the shadow of the new building that would play such a big part in his life for the next few years. 

Biting my lip, I had to fight the urge not to scoop him up and announce that, on second thoughts, I was homeschooling him altogether, but it was the second day that my emotional fortitude was truly tested.

Everyone had prepared me for the emotions on day one, but on the first morning I had surprised myself with my steeliness, as we quickly grabbed a pic before Number One ran off to play with his friends. 

So quick did he run away that I had to manhandle him for a yearbook picture, much to his chagrin. 

It wasn’t the first time an Irish male was delighted to see the back of me, and whilst I obviously didn’t want him sad going in, I didn’t want him ecstatic to be leaving me, either. Surely, there is a middle ground?

It was surreal, coming home to a much quieter house, and so sad was the baby in the absence of Number One that I treated him to a babychino.

I say that like this is a treat, when, in fact, it is a daily event in our home. 

Chai lattes are my Mammy petrol, mostly because people judge you for drinking wine at that hour of the morning.

Collecting Number One from school was a pure joy, and it felt like I had been without him for three days, not hours.

Running out to me as I stood with the other parents, I bearhugged him like it was Terminal 1 arrivals on Christmas Eve, and he squeezed me right back. 

Thankfully, the feedback on school was overwhelmingly positive, bar Number One’s complaint that they hadn’t received any homework, because he hates slacking.

He then proceeded to produce his first piece of artwork, which consisted of a kite coloured in black.

This was an artistic choice that will no doubt have the teachers keeping a close eye on him in case the academic pressure of junior infants pushes him over the edge.

In reality, the colour choice was probably a direct result of Daddy’s insistence on playing Radiohead rather than anything more serious, like worrying that they hadn’t yet started dictation.

While day one was all fanfare and sceitimíní, day two was a little trickier. 

Number One was still more than happy to run in, but he lingered a little longer in the hallway as we said goodbye, quizzing me to make sure I had packed everything as discussed.

Spidey buidéal? Check. Cheese and grapes in our lunchbox? Check. Illegal Transformer toy contraband, in case of emergencies? Treble check. 

As he interrogated me as to the contents of his new Spidey bag, I couldn’t help but feel this was pointing to a touch of anxiety, as the penny dropped that it was the start of a new chapter for all of us.

Suddenly, the novelty and fanfare were gone, and it was just a regular day, the first of thousands, and I couldn’t help but feel sad as I walked to my car, blinking away the tears.

Number One has been my buddy at home for the last five years, seeing me through numerous hairstyle disasters and one pair of trusty black leggings, which have been such a staple in my life that I will probably be buried in them.

Of course, he has already been gone from me in a way, as he has been attending naíonra, but there is something about the formality of a school uniform and a school setting that hits different.

Still, the class picture that appeared in the local paper had me feeling like we would all be OK. 

Sandwiched in between his buddies, Number One smiled broadly, already well-acquainted with most of the children in his class and approximately two feet taller than his peers, no doubt leaving many readers to assume he had been repeating junior infants for at least the last three years.

One of the other class moms told me later her little guy had informed her it had been a ‘beautiful day’ — a sentiment that nearly had me tearing up again. 

The following day, the same child received not one, two, but three hugs from Number One before he had even managed to get his coat on the hook, so it’s safe to say the feeling was very much mutual.

All we want is for them to be happy and kind, and nothing else matters. 

At the end of the day, if they can be those things, they will already have achieved more than we could ever hope for them — and then, in the end, it really doesn’t matter what type of medicine they end up studying.