8 December 2018

Nursery Run From Hell

An account of the daily struggle that is the nursery run.


All went well this morning. I decided to have a last minute shower. Hardly any Cocomelon watched on the telly. Playing with toys, colouring, lying on floor together (when my back hurt).

Then came time to get in the car. “I run away” he says with a smile. I warn him not to let go of my hand. We step out the door, all good. Then onto the road, all hell breaks loose. He is screaming for me to “get off”, or “let go”.

Neighbour Pat walks past with Fin. Diversion. We make it half way to car, and he spots the alley leading to Tesco – “go shops!” he cries. Panic sets in as he breaks free from my grip and charges anywhere away from me. I manage to hobble my way to him, back searing, but nothing is working. The more I try the worse it gets, and we’re getting further and further away from the car. I can’t calm him so I have to pick him up and carry him.

He grabs my throat. He squeezes my Adams Apple. I get cross and tell him “no shops”. He squeezes even harder.

In the car his face is full of sadness. I say “Daddy loves you” and “its ok”. He has none of it.

We get to nursery, he spots a PJ Masks foil wrapper and we’re back to being grumpus. My back is a burning agony. I lift him out the car and he clings to the passenger seat, fingers feeling blind for the PJ Masks foiler wrapper poking just slightly out of the storage compartment on the back of the seat.

We’re on the pavement, on hands and knees, crying our heart out. Snot dribbling, tears washing, face a scarlet mess. I attempt a compromise, a negotiation to no avail. Mothers on looking. I must handle this situation. I grab him kicking and screaming, half over my shoulder, my legs losing integrity, like scolding jelly. Every inch of my knowing understands everything about this is wrong.

Touchdown, we’re inside. Quick as the wind he turned and grabbed me, he transformed into cuddly sleepy shy koala bear, and letting go of him was not an option.

Sharron, prised him from his grip long enough to sweep him away. Once again, my last sight of him was a soaking screaming blubberyness, crying for his Daddy not to leave him.

I can take all the physical pain the world hurls my way, bring it on. The one thing that absolutely pains me to the core is saying goodbye at nursery. I need to find a better way of doing this.