So today has been the first time that The Boy has been looked after by anyone other me, Mr. TheBoyandMe or my mother. It has been a monumental moment for me, not so much for anyone else, or it seems, for The Boy. Today, he started in playgroup.

Last night I dreamt that people were trying to take him from me, that they were trying to prove that I was unfit to be his mum. I slept fitfully as a result. Luckily, The Boy chose last night to have terrible teething pain and as a result he ended up in bed with us, so I was able to hold him and reassure myself that he wasn't going anywhere.

We've led up to this point by reading him a personalised 'Peppa Pig & The Boy start at playgroup' book, and last night he argued with daddy that he didn't want to build blocks in playgroup (like the him in the book) but that he wanted to paint. Result! This morning I explained to him that he would be staying there and playing with Little Miss Chatty (his friend) while I did shopping. I showed him his bag and explained that he needed to ask the ladies if he needed the loo.

I don't know why I was worried. He confidently strode into playgroup, looked around for Little Miss Chatty (who wasn't there yet) and started playing with the easel. I told him I was going shopping, kissed him and was kicked out politely by the nursery nurses.

I went shopping. I sat in Starbucks for twenty minutes. I checked my phone every thirty seconds. I came home and wrote a blog-post. I rushed out the door and raced into the building to pick him up. The Boy, was helping the ladies to stack the chairs and move them. When he saw me, he ran across the hall with the biggest smile on his face and leapt into my arms. We had an enormous cuddle while they reassured me that he'd only cried when his bike wobbled, he'd asked to go to toilet and had been a good boy who'd had a marvellous time.

When did this boy…

…become this one?