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Nursery Drama

Ludoo is back at nursery and by God I’m excited. The problem is Ludoo is not. Despite attending all of last year, he is finding the whole morning drop off routine quite traumatic….again. There is a lot of wailing, gesticulating and nose wiping going on.  And he’s not the only one…the other day it was like a frigging chorus of ten screaming children, with Ludoo being the loudest and most expressive (apart from this one child who was rolling around on the floor howling hysterically).

The interesting thing is, I never had this issue with Flump. She just skipped into nursery and got on with it. Independent and full of enthusiasm. Ludoo, in contrast, starts sobbing before we even get to the nursery gate, with his desperate pleas “Mummy I want you, mummy I need you.” Admittedly it’s hard to hear and not the ideal start to my day. As awful as it is, I frequently leave him sobbing in the capable hands of his nursery teachers. The key, I find, is to make a quick exit…the longer I linger the worse he becomes. And when I return to pick him up, he is perfectly happy, with food, paint and snot smudged all over his face, just like all the other children.  I know he’s had a good time and I know it’s good for him (and me) to be at nursery.

I’ve come to realise that some children are just more sensitive and needier than others. Ludoo demands my full attention and requires constant reassurance. Sometimes it’s at the most inappropriate of times, for example when he kept asking me loudly at my daughter’s school assembly ‘Mummy do you love me?’ at five minute intervals. It was a bit embarrassing but if I didn’t reassure him he got increasingly agitated and upset. That’s just him. Whilst it drives me nuts sometimes and can make life a lot more challenging (especially in the mornings), the flip side is no man has ever given me this level of attention in my life. EVER. Not even the Old Git when he was trying to woo/trick me. I am the centre of Ludoo’s world and the focus of all of his attention and affection. I’ll take it for as long I’ve got it.

The Old Git’s Approach to Bedtime

I don’t know how it rolls in your household but my old man’s bedtime routine is diabolical. It takes about two hours longer than my own ‘wham bam get in bed or else you’re dead..’ approach and consists of rolling around on the floor, laughing hysterically, a lot of tickling and running around like crazed puppies on speed. I can cook a meal, do the washing, watch two episodes of EastEnders, and the Old Git will still be getting the mini monsters ready for bed.

Quite frankly it doesn’t bother me if I’m off out with the girls… as long as I don’t get any phone calls from the kids wailing down the phone and demanding that I come home…my phone’s normally on mute anyway [evil laugh]. But if I’m at home and I ask the Old Git to put them to bed so that I can get on with the zillion other things I have to do, it narks me off when I can hear them having a party upstairs. Why can’t he just get on with the task in hand? Why over excite them before bed? And why does it always have to end with me stomping up the stairs and yelling at them to get a move on?

My evenings, post bedtime, are the equivalent of a relaxing spa day but without all the spa facilities. I like to switch off, chill out and recharge. So if the kids eat into that time too much I start twitching like a deranged person. But for the Old Git it’s a totally different experience. He hardly gets to see them during the week and so the weekends are precious time spent with them. Even though it pains me and goes against all my Hitler tendencies, I suppose the odd night spent where the kids run riot isn’t going to kill me. If it’s good for father/daughter/son bonding, then who am I to piss on that parade?