So.. nursery. My baby boy was sent, without a care for his well being to nursery today. How could I do it to him?
We woke up slightly late, but still ridiculously early at 6.45. You know, we need time to prepare for momentous occasions such as these. Lal woke happy, G woke in her usual complaining mood, and I was unable to unglue my eyes to open them for 19 minutes. I hate mornings.
Clothes were chosen, not to good as to be showy offy, or ruined at the slightest hint of paint, and not too shabby so as to appear down at heel. Thought has to go into these things you know. Right, so that was me done, now time for Lal. Cute little trousers and the matching top that was bought for him last Christmas and finally fits now! Yay. Hair brushed and curls teased back (him) make up done and hair brushed ..in the vain hope that someone somewhere might things it's a hair do.. (me) tie wonky and skirt rolled up (G).
It's now 7.47 and we're all ready. Right. Umm. Take G to school at 8.20.. and Lal to nursery for 9. Slightly early.. ooh.. we all have time for breakfast, yay! Family take tops off in case milk is spilt down them and munch merrily away on cereal (G) banana (me) and Gingerbread Man.. (guess who.. *sigh*)
Tops back on.. let's be off. Lecture G in the car on the way to school about how her uniform choices now will affect her entire future. If the skirt continues to be rolled up, she'll only be able to get a job as a street worker in Soho. Then realise that I am not actually talking to myself and try to get out of explaining what it actually is a street worker does.
"Umm, well.. ok, you're old enough now. They sell their bodies for sex. Like, making money.. no, not like making money, actually making money. It's not good. And is wrong. No, they don't make lots of money. Well they can do, but it's not a nice way to earn a living. Yes, I know you like short skirts, and I suppose you do have a nice figure.. but that does NOT mean that being a street worker is a profession you can aspire to. Georgina. No. Oh come on. You know I didn't mean to start this conversation. C'mon Pa. Ok... you're here now. Have a lovely day. Don't tell any of your (catholic) teachers what I said. Ooh ooh.. wait a second.. Mary Magdalene was a street worker.. (door slams as G runs away quickly) Bloody great, I've just spent the last 5 minutes extolling the virtues of prostitution. And now I'm talking to myself. Hey Lal, shall we sing Here we go looby lou?"
And breathe. I shouldn't be left in charge of children. Or speech. I need some sort of brain filter.
Got to the nursery, after 2 rounds of Louby Lou, and 1 round of Lal the Builder... shut. Check time. 8.28. Great. Drive home,, park car, get Lal out and go inside. Decided to walk to the nursery even though it's a whole 5 minutes walk away, so get the pushchair out. Lal sees pushchair and turns into Excito boy shouting "park park park park" and running in circles.. until he trips over his own foot. Waste time double checking that I have packed nappies, wet wipes, drink, dentinox (last used a year ago.. but he might need it) calpol in case of fever emergency, first aid kit in case theirs isn't stocked, list of 14 emergency numbers.. all the things a panicking mother needs, and then leave.
Arrived at the nursery at 9.04 and watched as Lal ran away. He *did* shout bye over his shoulder, but didn't even have the decency to pretend tears. Nothing, nada, zilch. Just pure happiness that they had a climbing frame. Traitor.Left him and came home to get on with my work.
I did nothing. I had 18 phone calls to make, but didn't. Emails to send, but didn't. Website uploading to do, but didn't. I did spend a little while ringing my own phone line from my mobile in case there was a problem. And then cried because what if the nursery had called whilst I was ringing? I did sit and stare at the clock counting down minutes. I did just sit. And wait. For the big hand to get near 12.
And then it did. I walked so quickly to the place that my calves were actually screaming in pain. I was out of breath when I arrived, and what did I find? My son, my dear delightful boy, who had SLEPT for an hour and a half. He doesn't sleep for me. Oh no, no naps for a month now. But nursery? The place he doesn't know? The people he doesn't know? He'll sleep perfectly happily for them. Because, you know, I'm paying for him to nap! Three hours he was there, and slept for half of it. Great.
Oh, and did he run to me in slow motion, with arms out stretched, whilst slow music built to a crescendo in the background? Did he heck! He glanced once in my direction and refused to look at me again. Seriously. I've been ignored ALL afternoon and evening. I did get the narrow eyed glare at about 4 that said " I thought you cared about me mother. But then you left me at that place. I don't know you any more. You're dead to me now." That look. Apart from that.. if he absolutely had to have something, he fixed his gaze somewhere over my left shoulder and said "Gingee" I glumly provided Gingerbread men.
So... nursery was a success for him. For our relationship, I fear I have damaged it beyond repair. Although... he did give me a hug before he took himself up to bed..maybe there is hope...
Except he goes again tomorrow...