I'm a celebrity

This evening during the FINAL bedtime cuddle, little girl was telling me about her nursery play. A play in which she is an Elf (remember this, it is important in a few sentences time).

We discussed that Mummy was going one day and Daddy another. We sang 'Twinkle Twinkle Christmas Star'.

The Little girl told me what she has to say in the play. Yes, a speaking part no less.

Proud mummy bubbled up and infused 'my little star! You are a STAR.'

My enthusiasm was met with a

'No, mummy. I'm an ELF.'

Horn

No, I'm not in lust with a gorgous lover, I haven't dusted off my sauciest undies, they are still languishing at the bottom of my drawer. (If you happen to have a spare toy boy loittering around, do feel free to send him my way.)

I haven't GOT the horn; what it really is, is that I am ON the horns of a dilema.

A schooling dilema - yes already. But no, not about actual schools. Just about nursery. I say just, but it has me perturbed.

A few months ago they wanted Isobel to move up to the next class, but I didn't want her to go without her friends.

I was assured they would move Isobel with at least one of her gang - Elif. Perfect, as Elif is 2 days younger, Elif who we have known since she was days old and Elif whose mum is one of my very dearest friends.

But now it transpires that there is only place and I have been asked to move Isobel alone. So, I hear you say, say no again.

I can't.

If I say no, they will ask Mine to let Elif go, if Mine says no it will be Charlotte who is asked to move. So ultimately one of the gang has to go it alone.

It terrifies me and I have no idea why.

Wordless Wednesday - That's what friends are for

Oink, sneeze or as Isobel would say grunt, choo

Swine flu, piggy flu, something beginning with H, whatever you want to call it, it really is EVERYWHERE.

In another one of my perhaps-I-should-wear-hooped-earrings-and-own-a-crystal-ball moments on Tuesday evening, well it was about 10:30 pm so I guess that is night, I rang PD. No it wasn't a dirty phone call, I was just having a bit of a non-defined, not quite worry about the whole swine flu thing.

The next day, when I picked Isobel up from nursery we were told they had had a child diagnosed with it.

The thing is, what do you do with this information? Do you take your child out of nursery indefinitely? Just in case?

Well, I haven't done that.

I have started putting pro-biotics in her milk though.

Ps. Isobel now makes a fabulous grunting piggy noise.

Funny five minutes?

When I was younger and rowed with my Mum or simply hated the world so was crying, if my younger brother and sister approached me, I would always say I was having a 'funny five minutes'.

My funny five minutes probably ended up being a funny five years, but that's teenagers for you.

Isobel seems to be having her own funny five minutes at the moment.

At nursery I am no longer dismissed with a cheery wave, a 'bye' and a lovingly blown goodbye kiss. She no longer stands at the door to great her playmates with a 'hiya'. Nope instead she is to found clinging to the neck of her obviously lovely mummy. I have to hand her over to a carer for a cuddle, beat a hasty retreat (before I too cry) and pear through the window to make sure I have happily been replaced by toast.

Bath time is not a playful affair. Isobel happily climbs the stairs and once in the bathroom will present me with gifts from every corner, she will merrily wee on the bathroom floor and reach for the loo roll to mop it up. But put he in the bath and she shouts, clinging to the side for dear life she even attempts to climb out. Me, I wash her and her luscious locks as quickly as I can before snuggling her up in her towel like the precious little baby she is.

If I get in the bath too, of course everything is fine. But I like to bath with a glass of wine and not be in my pyjamas by 6:30.

So, is this just a funny five minutes or is it really going to last for five years?!

Foreign films

I travelled into work with my NCT buddy today, nothing really unusual in that. We travel together most days, meeting at Nursery or en-route, dropping off our little girls and heading for the 8:09 to Waterloo.

There was also nothing unusual about the fact that in those 30 minutes on the train we cover all topics (yes we are the girls having a giggle and the occasional cry on a packed commuter train).

Today we covered dating, drinking, tantrums, work - she hates PowerPoint, I hate spreadsheets and we both have a day of our hates ahead of us, we did say 'swap'.

But we also talked about how sometimes no matter how dear a person is to you, how much of an in depth shared interest you have like say a daughter, that there are times when although you hearts are on the same page it's almost as if you are a badly dubbed movie - you are the voice and he is the picture but you just really are not in sync.

At times like this it is really tricky to work out how to co-parent.

Hey, ho girls coming over tonight, yoga tomorrow, party on Saturday; nothing really wrong with this picture as long as I don't allow myself to be dubbed.

Genetic engineering?

I wish I'd listened a little closer when PD regaled me with his tales of childhood accidents: bits of tree lodged in his eye, broken bones, permanently grazed knees. It's surprising his Mum wasn't driven to an early grave. (Not to mention the fact he now lives a million miles away)

Mind you I was prone to putting holes in the knees of my tights, but nothing really serious, oh a bit of shoe polish eating and shutting my thumb in the hinges of a front door maybe, but nothing requiring an anaesthetic.

Isobel seems to have inherited an accident prone gene from one of us. True she is an adventurous, energetic little girl and I love her lively spirit but, I wish, I really wish I wasn't so familiar with the accident form at nursery.

I wish the application of arnica wasn't such a regular part of our bedtime routine.

I wish my daughter hadn't banged her head again.

Overprotective - me?!

I don't think you can be over-protective when your daughter goes to, and loves nursery as much as Isobel does.

But, as I just called nursery to check on my little girl who was unusually clingy this morning, and had an unexplained bruise on her face on Monday, I was told she has fallen backwards off her chair and bumped her head.

Apparently she's fine but sleepy, so is now in bed. I'm at work with a knot in my tummy and I just want to don my cape and fly home to scoop her up.

First day at school... well kind of

Today Isobel went for her first visit to nursery.

As you can imagine with any first day at school, there was much dragging of feet; much sulking and much posturing on how unfair life is. Yes, I can be a child.

As I walked, dragging my feet, I imagined writing this post and that it would end with me saying how lovely it all was, how much Isobel loved it and that it was not as bad as I imagined. But that wasn't quite how it played out.

There were many children crying, but that was okay, it was explained by the babies having their settling-in visit to the more grown up part of nursery. I felt reassured.

I was there to fill in forms, which I did in the baby room accompanied by Isobel's key carer - another Saffir - would you believe it. She seemed nice enough, I tried not to stare at the angry patch of excema that was visible under her polo shirt.

The trouble is Isobel likes to play, she likes to have toys that do things, she likes to watch the world. So, plonking her in a bumbo seat facing away from everyone with a boring ball on her lap was bound to bore her. Lying her on her front where she can't see anyone with equally dull toys was also unlikely to stimulate her. Isobel likes to play, but needs some props at the very least.

And it was hot in there, yesterday was a hotter day than today so I dread to think how unbearable yesterday would have been.

There isn't room for our pushchair*... children were running around in just nappies...

Oh, I know I'm looking for excuses. Truth be told, I think Isobel is just a little bit too little for nursery right now.


*One thing I have discovered that is extremely challenging for a single parent is turning a pram into a pushchair, there are things that are definitely easier with two. That said, I've kind of done it; it was a struggle but worth it.

More them than me.

I did do something very grown up today: I went to look at a nursery for Bobbit. It breaks my heart to think about it already, but I am self-employed and will need to return to work when Bobbit is still a wee babe. I have a mortgage to pay and no-one to pay it for me. (Well, RD will help, but he isn’t in a position to fully provide, not that I’m really sure I’d want him to right now.)

RD and I approached the nursery with some trepidation, neither us had a clue what we were meant to ask, it was like going out in your parents shoes when they are 5 sizes too big for you. How on earth did we end up being old enough to have a child?

I have read the OFSTED report, and at Teddies the babies seemed happy, the staff seemed organised, and what ever routine I manage will be followed by the nursery. But, I still wish my child didn’t have to spend more time there than with me.