SCHOOL may almost be out for summer, but we’re already planning, planning, planning for September.

That’s because our daughter is to start school for the first time that month, so we’ve been at the venue for some introductory sessions and are trying to get organised in time.

I know that there are still months to go, but my Virgoan traits prevent me from waiting any longer to get it all sorted out.

Thus, I have already bought all of her uniform and it’s waiting, neatly folded, in a drawer.

And yes, I have already sewed name tags onto any garment where it was possible to attach one.

We’re trying not to be too neurotic about it, her anxious father and I, but it’s an emotional time, something which has taken us a bit by surprise.

I was shocked by how uncomfortable I felt surrounded by hoardes of parents I didn’t know, many of whom seemed already to be quite familiar with each other, and how much it felt like being back at school myself.

We both so want our child, as everyone does, to be happy at school, to make friends and to thrive while she’s there. We dread the thought of confrontation with anyone, or her failing to mix with other children as successfully as other people’s kids seem to do without effort.

It’s hard to stop yourself from imagining nightmarish scenarios where she is unpopular or bullied, or where we encounter hostility or the playground politics of other parents.

In order to prepare her for life at school, including changing all of her own clothes for PE, we’re ramping up her independence at home. It’s something her school has stated they require – and we know that it is necessary.

Sometimes, however, it can be difficult to push these areas forward as, when you look at your little person, you can see that they are already growing up so fast. You feel an urge to cling desperately to the part of them that is still your baby (and always will be).

As I stood in her new classroom, trying not to visibly stress or fret, I was reminded of the first time that I walked away after leaving her at nursery school.

I turned a corner into a lane near the building, refusing to look back, and was caught by a sudden tidal wave of emotion.

As tears sprung to my eyes and a huge lump clogged my throat, the final lines of Cecil Day Lewis’ timeless poem Walking Away – inspired by him watching his son Sean start school - came rushing back to me: 

“How selfhood begins with a walking away / And love is proved in the letting go.”