Nursery Nightmares

Sebi is starting nursery next week, supposedly.  His current stance is that he is "not going".  I didn't take this too seriously when we first started talking about it but he is a stubborn little mule (no idea where he gets it from) and as time ticks on I'm beginning to think that we may have a problem.

The nursery teachers came over for their home visit last Friday.  At least this time around I knew that this was normal procedure, when Zak started nursery I was assuming I had found my way onto some sort of list for parents that needed watching a little more closely than others (guilty conscience?)  Anyway, the lovely teachers arrived with their box of toys and their folder full of glossy pictures of children having a lovely time.  Down we sat and they asked Sebi if he was looking forward to starting nursery.  "No thank you", said my polite, yet definite youngest.  How we all nervously laughed.  Half an hour later they had played with Seb, engaged him and he had definitely warmed to them both.  As they left they said that they were looking forward to seeing him in a couple of weeks and as he shut the door he said, audibly, "No THANK you, I said I not coming".

Seb is going to go into politics I think.  His latest angle on this dilemma popped up soon after this visitation.  "Mummy", says he, "Can I stay home with Mummy if I do the washing?"  Clever little chap.  He has obviously noticed me sinking under the piles of washing since we arrived back from holiday last week and thought he would hit me where I am most vulnerable.  I mean, technically he doesn't have to be in any sort of schooling as yet, so I might take back to the table that if he throws in the hoovering and polishing we may well have a deal.

We tried his nursery uniform on this morning to see if that would enthuse him.  Big mistake, huge.  Huge is exactly what his brother was when he went to nursery as the barely-used tops in our cupboard are size 5/6.  Obviously he is not going to get new tops that actually fit him when there is perfectly good wear left in these. However, I could see exactly what was going through his poor little head as he stood swamped in what might as well of been a dress: not only is the silly cow making me go somewhere I don't want to but she is already lining me up for a year of ridicule due to my daft costume.  Brilliant.

The nursery teachers were not impressed when I told them that I still help Seb go to the toilet.  I assumed this was quite normal as he is only just three but they looked at me very sternly and made noises about signing forms from the SENCO and so I thought we'd better hit toilet boot camp for these last couple of weeks.  We're now pretty competent at pulling pants and shorts up and down (yes, both of us) but we have hit a brick wall over the 'standing up wee wee'.  Apparently, the fact that I don't have a willy is not a good enough reason for me to go to the toilet in a different fashion to my little shadow.  It is a conversation I don't want to get much more deeply into, for obvious reasons, but we are getting nowhere fast.  I think I'm going to rely on Seb's bladder of steel to get him through the three hours of nursery without him having to go.

All in all, much as I'm looking forward to my 15 hours a week of freedom (first time in five years - bring it on), I'm getting the feeling that it maybe be a bit of a bumpy ride for the first few weeks.  I wonder if the nursery teachers will support my envisaged idea of first day drop off which I imagine may be Seb tucked under my arm like a rugby ball, quickly dumped in the classroom and me legging it?  Possibly not.  If I wasn't on a list before, I'm pretty sure I will be then.