toddlers

Tonight we’re going to party like it’s Ballyhaunis, 1985.

The big day has arrived. I knock off at about 2pm and swing by the crèche. The staff have made a card with an enormous number one on the front. (That’s the numeral “1”. They haven’t just pissed on a piece of cardboard and handed it to me.) They really are wonderful here. All of the carers dote on Lola and she adores them right back.

Some day, I’m sure, I’ll arrive to collect her and she won’t want to come. She’ll tell me she’s staying put. But for now, at least, she greets with an affectionate poke in the eye.

The carer fills me in on what I’ve missed today. Lola is not my daughter, she’s my niece. And this is one of those times when that distinction is most pronounced. Only a parent could possibly give a shit how many times a day their child has crapped itself or eaten turnips. But I listen politely and after that we’re on our way. Read the rest of this entry »