Crazy Like a Moose

I had a phone call yesterday morning from the Small Girl’s playschool: she’d just thrown up into her cake (it was her friend’s birthday), and could I come and collect her? I put it all down to the fact that she had spent quite some time licking the floor of the Health Centre the day before, and tried to come to terms with the fact that it was going to be a long and harrowing day.

Generally, I’m pretty good at dealing with illness, at least to begin with. I leapt into action, settling her under a duvet on the sofa with a drink of warm Ribena and a bowl to be sick in. I cuddled her, stroked her hair and reassured her that Mummy was here and that everything was going to be OK. She lay there whimpering a bit, sucking her fingers and submitting listlessly to my fussing. Unfortunately, I have a very short attention span with these things, and an hour later I was beginning to get a bit fed up with Being Florence Nightingale, and to wish she would pull herself together so we could go shopping.

At least she appeared to have stopped being sick, so I decided to risk giving her Calpol. It worked: within half an hour, the colour had returned to her cheeks, she had jumped up from the sofa and she was pestering me to participate in one of her “games”.

The Small Girl’s fantastic imaginary games always begin with the allocation of roles: “Mummy, you be a monster” (or doctor/ snake/ lady/ Toucan etc.). Once we all know who we are, the Small Girl directs the game. There are several themes with which she is currently preoccupied: Going to the Doctor, Getting the Train to Dublin, Going to the Seaside, etc. Yesterday’s theme, predictably, was Being Sick at Playschool.

“Mummy, you be a Doctor and I’m at playschool and you come and pick me up and give me a check-up and ask the lady in the chemist for a lollipop…” My heart sank - was this really preferable to Being Florence Nightingale?

Still, I threw myself into it and in the end, we had quite a pleasant day, incorporating Going to the Doctor, Getting the Train to Dublin and Going to the Seaside all in one afternoon. I brought out some puzzles for us to do together At the Seaside, and the pieces quickly became the components of a meal, as the Small Girl cooked me “pasta with a nappy sauce” and a “lemonade sandwich”. The whole thing ended with an enthusiastic dance and a hearty rendition of “Baa baa black sheep”.

In isolation in the corner of the room, the Very Small Boy dealt with all this really very well. Sitting in his bouncy chair, watching us thoughtfully and sucking his thumb, he gave us a serious frown with his little fluffy eyebrows. “Are you OK Baby Pie?” I asked him, as the Small Girl ran over to give him a kiss.

“Aaawwwww, he’s a cwazy baby!” she declared.
“A crazy baby?” I asked laughing.
“Yeah…. like a Moose” she said, nodding thoughtfully to herself and wandering off to watch telly.