Back in September, along with millions of other 3 year olds, Tyne started nursery for the first time.
Actually, this isn't strictly true, you may recall that he had actually started back in March but it didn't go well and we were not happy with the nursery setting we'd chosen...so we decided to cut our losses and try again in September.
And that's what we did.
And on his first day, it was awful.
Every bit as awful as I had feared it would be - he cried, he screamed, he held on to me for dear life, he begged me not to leave, and in the end he had to be physically pulled off me by a member of staff as I was ushered out of the door by another.
I stood in the hall, anxiously waiting and listening, until I heard his sobs die down...and then I left, and fell to pieces in the car.
Just like millions of other mums did on that day.
When I returned a couple of hours later to collect him, I was hopeful that he would come bouncing out telling me how fun it was...and he did.
So, the next time, I hoped it might be a little bit easier. Because that's what's supposed to happen isnt it.
Only it wasn't.
Infact it seemed to get worse every time.
But I was ok with it...I knew it was all so new to him, that he just needed time to settle in, that it was just "one of those things"..and I saw a fair few other mums on Instagram and Facebook talking about how their children were struggling to settle in too, talking about their fears and thoughts of pulling them out.
So I knew I wasn't alone, I knew that Tyne wasn't the only one finding it hard.
But gradually...as time went on...those posts became fewer and fewer.
I saw each and every one of those mums who had been in the same boat as me gradually post about how they had finally cracked it...how their little one was finally settled, how they finally went in to nursery with a smile on their faces every day or at least settled down very quickly when they arrived...suddenly I was in that boat all by myself.
Our journey only seemed to be getting tougher with time.
Every evening before bed, Tyne would cry and ask me "I don't have to go to nursery tomorrow, do I Mummy?"
and when I said "yes Darling, tomorrow is a nursery day" - the tears would come. And so would the screams, the near hyperventilation, the panic and the fear.
It didn't feel like just a temper tantrum or a case of wanting his own way, it felt like more than that...it felt like real actual PANIC...the panic I'm so very familiar with myself, that I would never wish on my worst enemy...let alone my son.
And that absolutely broke me.