Despatches from a mother who started late (and is running to catch up)

Summer holiday

Earlier this week two-year-old daughter went on her first proper trip anywhere without me or her dad. I wanted so much to be cool about this; after all, in the scale of things, the trip wasn't that big a deal. I used to hate feeling smothered by my well-meaning - but over-protective - parents.

As trips go, this looked pretty innocuous. Beanie's nursery was hiring a bus to take all the children to a seaside town about thirty miles away from where we live. The most hazardous part of the expedition would involve a journey along the nearby motorway in a mini-van, but the driver was the same man who drives all the toddlers to swimming every week. The town in question is a bastion of stone villas, cafes and golf courses, interspersed with hotels that host conferences and weddings.

But this was her first parent-free jaunt - and I couldn't help worrying. (The picture above is of Beanie at the seaside earlier this year - under the watchful gaze of her father.)

The nursery staff were excited about the trip for days beforehand. So much so that voicing my terrors to them seemed a bit rude. They're always kind and cheery with me, Beanie, her granny and her dad. Beanie loves it there - and I wasn't keen to say anything that might rock the boat. Like questioning their ability to look after her for a single day.

"I'm a bit nervous," I finally confessed to one of the nursery assistants last week.

"Why's that? What is it you're worried about," she asked kindly.

I gulped. Might as well be honest "I'm worried you're going to lose her," I replied. I should stop reading the news, all those stories about missing children just frighten me.

She laughed. In a nice way.

"We've got strict staff/child ratios," she said. "And we've been doing this trip for years. It's well organised. We're not going to lose her. We've not lost one yet. Don't worry about that."

I believed what she said. But, even so, spent most of the night beforehand unable to sleep. On the one hand, I didn't want Beanie to miss out on the fun of a seaside trip. And on the other? I couldn't get over my fear of some mishap. I just didn't know what to do for the best.

Eventually I decided I'd tell the staff she couldn't go - no shame in that. They'd understand. What with the pregnancy (five weeks to go, by the way) and everything.

The morning of the expedition dawned. I was hollow-eyed from lack of sleep, pelvic pain, pregnancy weariness and (although I didn't know it at the time) a kidney infection. My husband brought me a cup of tea in bed.

"So, have you made your mind up?" he asked me. "Is she going or not? You'll need to ring nursery and let them know."

I rang nursery, where the woman who answered the phone sounded giddy and excited, making me feel churlish not to enter into the spirit of things.

"If Beanie doesn't go on the trip, will there be anyone left in the nursery to look after her?" I asked.

"No, I'm sorry, there won't be. We're closing the nursery until 4.30pm," she said.

"Well, in that case," I started, trying to keep panic out of my voice, thinking of the work deadlines stacking up ahead of me, the midwives' advice to go to hospital for an emergency check-up, the stomach pains that could be signs of early labour (but thankfully weren't). "Well, in that case," I repeated. "I guess she'd better go."

I'd love to say I let Beanie go because I got over my nerves. But, truth be told, in the end, it was expediency that won out.

When she returned later that day, with sand in her shoes, socks and trousers, tired and happy, she looked puzzled as to why I hugged her so tightly.

Posted 04 June 2008 23:21

Daughter Nursery Work vs mothering

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