Starting school

Louise and I have had this strange feeling welling up for the past week. A mixture of immense pride in how our beautiful daughter has blossomed and also sadness that she is growing up so quickly.

For Emily's part, it's been pure excitement. We put her to bed at 7pm last night, but she was still awake and buzzing two hours later. I could hear her singing under her duvet, so crept up the stairs and listened outside her room, and she was improvising a song with the words 'I'm so excited to be starting at big school'. I could have wept with pride.

We wondered whether she might cry as we handed her over this morning, but, apart from a moment of shyness, she walked into class with her new teacher, Mrs Darnton, without even a backward glance.

It was lovely to see and reassuring to know that she's adjusting to life and that we needn't worry.

Matthew, meanwhile, missed the whole thing. He slept through his big sister's first day at primary school.

It is a watershed moment. It means Louise now doesn't have to juggle both Emily and seven-week-old Matthew, which has been difficult.

During school hours, she can feed Matthew, put him in his cot, and at long last try to get to grips with our house, which has, it's fair to say, descended into mild chaos these past two months.

Having the routine of getting Emily ready for school is good for us too. It gives us something to focus on.

Louise drew up a timetable to get us all out of bed, washed, dressed and fed, and at the school gate by ten to nine. And it worked. I don't think we would have coped without it.

That's the thing about children - and those of you who have them will understand this, while those of you who don't will just think I'm being anal - is that they need routine and boundaries.

They feel secure knowing they're eating at 5pm, having a bath at 6pm and in bed by 7pm.

When you've been used to a life of doing what you want exactly when you want to do it, it can come as a bit of a surprise.

But in the long run, it's the only way to survive.