Today we visited our first nursery.
On one hand it was a success… considering she didn’t stab or set fire to any children and *whispers* no-one was looking as I managed to diffuse the buggy-lynching-incident without losing any skin…
But then, on the other hand, it reminded me that my tiny little baby is now a huge gallumping pre-schooler whom, at the mere site of a crayon, some raw pasta shapes and edible glue, didn’t give me a second thought once we’d entered into what she perceived as her own personal Fisher Price sponsored heaven…
If the room hadn’t have been packed with 2-year-olds noisily scalping one another with safety spoons, you would have actually heard my heart break in two as she tore her hand from mine and refused to so much as acknowledge my presence for the next half an hour… despite me using my best ‘completely calm we’re-in-public’ voice and my ‘totally-in-control-of-my-child and shit’ stance to summon her. I may as well have dropped her off at the gate and gone to the pub… with an empty buggy… sobbing into a pre-midday gin… with only Peppa-wanking-Pig for company…
I am officially DEAD TO HER.
How quickly she forgets that I allowed her to turn my stomach muscles into crepe-paper, drain my boobs until they resemble used condoms and chain-saw her way out of my uterus… does that mean nothing to her now… NOTHING. (these words fell on deaf ears as she spent a full five minutes staring out a ride-on fire engine whilst hugging a sandwich.)
I know I need to let go… the teeny-weeny baby is no more. She has blossomed into the pasta-sucking-turd-ninja wrestling a 3-year-old I see before me… *sighs*
And I need this for me… I’m not ashamed to admit I need the break. She’s intense, hard work and frequently smells more than a little bit funky… plus you never know ‘which’ WallyBubba you’re going to get that day… the angel or the tanker (Toddler Wanker). Why not pay someone else to take the risk, and the facial beatings…
Here’s to nursery – the shiny shiny toddler heaven with it’s endless colourful plastic possibilities. We embrace you. (And WallyBubba has promised not to burn anything if I keep the Twixs coming… #win)
*raises gin and tongues Peppa Pig in celebration*
Ohhh we sent to see our first one today too and he loved it and ran to all the toys. I can't believe it's already here. How have nearly 3 years flown by already?? And if you count pregnancy then that's nearly 4. FOUR!!!!! I am taking it well. As you can see.Reply
Oh yes…. me too… *opens third bottle of gin and pops straw in…* 😉 xReply
Lovely post and not without your sparkly humour – a good sign under the circumstances! I can only presume you have a gin drip to keep you going. They're growing up too quickly, POD will be three on Christmas Day. We looked at a school on the interweb the other day *sniff*Reply
wow… a school… you need the gin more than I do… *unhooks drip and passes bottle* lol xxxReply
Oh dear, you know what happens next, don't you? Another baby…Reply
NEVER EVER EVER EVER SAY THOSE WORDS EVER EVER EVER.Reply
I saw one kid really crying when her mum came to collect her once – she was saying she wanted to stay with her key worker – must have been heartbreaking!Reply
oooh – killer… I think if that happened to me I'd leave her there to call her bluff! Mwahahahaha. (but then also go home and cry a lot) lol xReply
Great post – love the tanker!Reply
pahahahaha 😉 #tanker… gonna see if I can get it trending 🙂 lol xReply
Just wait till day three – then I bet you won't be dead, you'll have miraculously sprung up from your grave and Fisher Price won't hold a candle to your magnificence….
I feel your pain. I have a 1-year-old who screams the house down when I drag her away from her brother's pre-school. Mornings with Mum are dull and crappy in comparison.Reply
LOL – it's to this I aspire! hahaha 😉 yes… the sensation of knowing they're actually bored with you is not an inspiring one… teehee xReply