A much-anticipated occasion for me today when I attended the "Parents' Breakfast Morning" with Charlotte and all her little pals in the Foxgloves Room at nursery.
The idea was for each child to bring either their mummy or daddy along to dine with them. Each parent was asked to choose in advance from a menu including bacon sandwiches, eggs on toast and cereal. I ticked the bacon sandwich box earlier in the week and turned up at 8am sharp ready to party.
Sadly, by 8.30, I was still partying alone (other than the six toddlers staring at me and the four bored-looking members of staff coming and going and probably wondering why I was still there).
You've got to picture the scene (which I was too embarrassed to ask someone to capture for me). My six mini-pals and I were seated around a table no more than a foot in height; the kiddies on little wooden chairs with big arms, and me on a slightly larger plastic chair meant for a four-year-old. And whilst I munched on my bacon sandwich, the junior guys and gals took it in turns to throw their toast on the floor, at each other or at me.
I felt like a special guest on The Muppet Show.
Just as she was putting the first forkful in her mouth, Charlotte pooed her pants. And it was a bad one.
I didn't know what to do.
Should I inform a member of staff? No, I decided, on the grounds that whoever I told would probably have felt obliged to change her, making me feel bad. Should I subtly apologise to mummy number two for my daughter's number two? Too humiliating, I concluded.
No, I had to go for the third /cowardly option; it was time to get out of there. And three minutes later I was haring up the road.
I had a look on the nursery's website tonight and found the following genuine statement, dated today, in the news section:
"The parents enjoyed having breakfast with their child and stated it was a lovely experience."
An experience, it certainly was.
