She’s the last baby I’ll ever have, and she’s starting Primary this week. She’s spent the last two years wishing for you as her teacher, and she almost can’t contain her excitement as she packs and re-packs her new mint-coloured backpack printed with little hearts.
When I wrote to my son’s Primary teacher, two Septembers ago, I told Mrs. M how I would be crying on the first day. How I would be fighting back the urge to follow the bus and lurk outside the classroom — sneaking peeks of my baby boy on his first day of school.
But this time, it’s different. You already know my little girl, Ms. B.
You know her sparkling hazel eyes, pointed chin and musical little laugh. You know how she loves to watch those annoying Elsya and Anya videos on YouTube, because your little girl watches them too.
You know her dresses are handmade and her temper is fierce. You know she is funny and friendly and so eager to be good for you.
This little girl is my lucky star. She fills me with light and challenges me in ways no one else does.