THE HOUSE IS SILENT – AND I FEEL UNEASY

There’s a strange noise in my house, unsettling and constant.

The fridge gives out a groan every few minutes, yet another household appliance on its last legs.

The washing machine thuds through the spin cycle, and there’s the faint hum of traffic from the main road.

It all seems pretty mundane, except these humdrum noises have become magnified.

For the first time in 100 days, although it feels like 100 years, the house is silent.

It’s an uneasy feeling, as if I have forgotten something.

There’s no blare of nursery rhymes, no screeching toddler demands.

I am alone, save for the dog, who is lying upside down on the sofa in peaceful bliss.

Reuben has returned to childcare, a moment which I both feared and anticipated.

There are no sticky fingers prodding at my laptop, and for the first few hours at least, it’s a revelation.

I make phone calls without the need to crouch behind a cupboard door – there’s no risk of interruption. I eat my lunch at an almost leisurely pace, and there is no little voice demanding a bite.

The clock ticks on to 3pm, as I perch on the sofa and stare at all the toys which remain unplayed with.

There is a brief lull in my working day, and I find myself flicking through pictures of Reuben.

I miss him.

I have spent lockdown adoring his company, yet desperately craving my own space.

We have kept busy in the garden, and the spider lily which we planted together in April has finally bloomed.

I make a mental note to show Reuben the white petals when he arrives home, and I find myself itching to go and collect him.

Welcome to the paradox of motherhood.

It is not dissimilar to my first day back at work after maternity leave.

Reuben was eight months old when he started childcare, still delightfully pudgy with that glorious baby smell.

I spent most of my day attempting to work, and yearning to hold him.

I was used to baby sick and gurgled conversations, so to be in an office made me feel like an imposter.

We grew used to time apart, and it ultimately made me a better mum because I was happier.

But I am now entering uncharted territory, not least because we’ve had our first truly difficult drop-off.

Reuben’s childminder warned me that it may be hard, but I didn’t pay much heed.

At almost two and a half, he is confident and outgoing – with no qualms when it comes to letting go of my hand.

Lockdown has potentially left a legacy for our children though.

After three months with mummy and daddy, Reuben no longer wants to go to the childminder.

Or rather, he doesn’t want to attend in the current circumstances.

New guidelines dictate that I cannot enter the childcare setting.

This means my son has to be handed over outside, while I maintain a two-metre distance.

Have you ever tried to encourage a toddler to walk away from you?

Reuben will happily leg it in the other direction when we’re at the shops, but this is different.

His grip tightens on my hand, and the tears start to fall.

By the time I finally drive away, I’m also crying.

I keep replaying his little face in my mind, the look as he crumpled and shouted “mummy”.

Logically, I know within five minutes he will be happily playing and the drama will be forgotten.

My phone pings throughout the day with pictures of his activities.

He’s been drawing and playing football, followed by his first outing to the park since March.

When it is time to collect him, I expect my child to rush into my outstretched arms.

Reuben shoots me a glance and then sails past, before demanding a snack as I buckle him in.

That’s toddlers for you.

Reuben has returned to childcare