I’m going to be a granny and I can’t wait for baby

LAST week’s Evening Times pictures of wee ones in uniform on their first day at school would’ve brought a tear to a glass eye.

Me, I’ve yet to be forgiven for sending my son, first day, to his multi-cultural school wearing a tartan bow tie.

I’ve recently been dewy-eyed a lot. As well as feeling a bit smug, knowing that my son will soon be making his own ‘faux pas’, because before the year is out, I’m going to be a grannie.

I remember my first day, sweltering in class but insisting on keeping my jacket on, because sitting behind me was Big Biff and he’d have seen through my nylon shirt that I’d been sent out with my big brother’s string vest on.

Our wee ones are the leading edge but how are they going to be able to save the planet if they’re stressed out about the small stuff? We just can’t afford to leave any of our children behind. That’s why am loving all the Back to School Uniform and supplies initiatives going on all over Scotland.

I think it’s safe to say this wee pending person of ours, won’t have to suffer the deprivations of going to school in the wrong gear.

I’ve no doubt they will also have all manner of fabulous opportunities. It’s great that my son’s lifestyle is way better than mine was when I became a parent.

However, I don’t just want my grandchild to have opportunities, I want them to know what they’re capable of. I no longer ask school children, ‘What do you want be when you grow up?’ Instead I say, ‘I hope you guys have got some ideas up your sleeve, cause we’ve kind of screwed things up a bit here.’ Whenever I do a workshop in schools I often do this story telling exercise.

I ask the kids to imagine what they might see if they were taking their own grandchild round ‘The Museum of the Future’.

Once we’ve had a laugh about false teeth and glasses with milk bottle lenses curling round your ears, they often go on to talk about the stuff that we’ve botched up being relegated to the past by them.

The exhibits often depict stuff like the factory farming, child brides and nuclear war heads.

I’ve told the prospective new parents that when it comes to baby stuff, the wee one would thrive on porridge, sleep soundly swaddled in the bottom drawer and gurgle happily over a wooden spoon painted face puppet but you can imagine what’s been lined up already.

I am excited though, about the Scottish Government’s baby boxes, if only for the powerful symbolism that, regardless of the parents’ circumstance or life conditions, it speaks to each baby’s parity in terms of innocence and potential.

YOU KNOW YOU ARE OLD WHEN: You’re excited at buying an outfit that matches your new reading glasses.

I remember my first day sweltering in class but insisting on keeping my jacket on