I had a déjà vu moment this week that hit me like a concrete truck. I was at the school gate, bidding my daughter farewell on her first day of school and looking up to the sky in a somewhat failed attempt to keep welled-up tears from spilling over. I did the same thing back in 2011. I looked at the same sky, pointing out very similar cloud formations in the same (lame) attempt to divert attention away from my face. In 2011, it was her first day of Prep. In 2018, however, it was her first day of high school. HIGH. SCHOOL.
On both occasions, mine were tears of pride mostly. And happiness. But this year, I’ll admit, there were also a few extra tears of where-the-hell-have-the-years-gone? I’ve said it dozens of times over the past few months but I truly don’t feel old enough to be the mother of a high schooler. I remember my own high school years like they were yesterday. I remember being a scrawny Year 8 ‘vegie’ and looking at the hot muscular Year 12 boys with equal parts trepidation and lust. That will be my daughter this week. I remember comparing myself to the other girls and wondering how they managed to fill out C-cup bras when I was still rocking a Big W crop top. That will be my daughter this week. I also remember overwhelming feelings of excitement about my life getting real. That will also be my daughter this week.
Miss 11 may have also had a moment of déjà vu at the gate this week. She was just as confident, enthusiastic and downright stoked on her first day of high school as she was as a brand new Preppy. Her bag was just as respectively big on her back and her hat was just as respectively big on her head. And her smile was just as wide this week as it was in 2011. It’s just that boys were “yuck” in 2011 and now they get a second look. Pray for me, dear readers. I’m officially old. And we’ve officially reached ‘those’ years.