It was Gertie's nursery Christmas party today and she was sick.
This doesn't surprise me in the least because her timing is fantastic. Last year she contracted chicken pox three days before Christmas so that we were in quarantine for the big day. Whole other story - but back to the present. She regularly tells me that she feels sick and my typical response is unsympathetic: "Ok, well finish your lunch and you will feel better; just drink some water and you will feel better; a bit of fresh air and you will feel better..." This morning, however, she seemed genuinely under the weather. Subdued, clingy, and a little shivery.
I was upset. Mostly because I didn't want Gertie to miss her Christmas party and the arrival of Father Christmas ('wrapped, named present to the value of not more than £5' had been supplied by us the week before), partly because we had made a plate of marmite sandwiches as our contribution to the festivities and I didn't want them to go to waste, and a little bit because I was due to be spending the day with an old school friend that I don't get to see very often and it would be distracting enough with the baby, let alone a sick toddler accompanying us. I know: selfish thought. Shouldn't really reveal it in a public forum...
Anyway, the party was fancy dress, so Daddy and I glanced at each other conspiratorially: "Why don't we just try your gold princess dress on with the tiara and see how you feel?"
One glance in the mirror seemed to do the trick and I haven't had the dreaded call from nursery to come and collect her. I do think however that I have discovered the real root of the problem, because my other method of persuasion was along the lines of, "And you don't want to miss Father Christmas do you?"
"You do want to see Father Christmas?"
"No...I want to see Grumps!"
So she would have preferred to be seeing her grandfather today instead of a random old man she doesn't know. Fair enough!