“Don’t make me go to nursery, Mummy. I will just play on my own quietly while you work.”
This is what Flea said to me at 8.52am this morning as we prepared to get into the car with the cereal in a cup (today: Weetabix and raisins).
We arrived at nursery and Flea trudged in next to me, looking for all the world like I was about to pack her off to a Soviet labour camp. When the staff asked about her birthday and what presents she’d got, Flea just shrugged, in a world-weary way, and began to cry.
One of the nursery staff swept Flea into her arms for a cuddle and I backed out of the room as Flea reached over the woman’s shoulders, sobbing, “Mummy, please don’t leave meeeeee….”
Nightmare.
I’ve got loads of work on at the moment, and I know logically that Flea has to be in nursery so I can get it done but, oh, that face. She does crying really well – no snot or unattractive scrunching up – she just lets tears roll down her perfect little cheeks while looking unbelievably sad. It breaks my heart just to look at her.
As I was going out of the front door of the nursery I saw my friend Ann with her little girl. “Hello Anya,” I said. “I think Flea is feeling a little sad, perhaps you could go and play with her to cheer her up?”
Two minutes later, I got a text from Ann: Couldn’t find Flea at first. She was outside on top of the slide shouting: “I am Captain Hook and you are all the crew of my pirate ship Ya-HAAARRRR!” Think she’s ok.
She’s either a future Meryl Streep or Frank Abagnale.
