My eldest son has his nativity today.
Last year he starred as a donkey at pre-school.
He spent the whole event looking very serious and bewildered and did not sing one word.
However, he didn't cry (I did) and he smiled at the end so I saw it as a great success.
Today he is one of the Pages (I didn't know what they were to be honest) he gets to wear a cape and walk behind the king which he is quite happy with.
The nativity has bought about one of the more surreal moments of my motherhood experience to date.
Yesterday the boy was on the toilet and kept advising me that 'it' wouldn't come out. Now we all know what 'it' is so I don't need to be crude.
He insisted that I read a story to him whilst 'the naughty it' made its exit.
The only thing to hand given my need to also keep an eye on the littlest monkey was a booklet that the big lad had been given at school.
'Happy Birthday Jesus.'
I read the nativity story to him, including the treacherous journey to Bethlehem, the birth of Jesus in a stable, the arrival of the kings and the giving of gifts.
The story worked and the toilet visit was a successful one.
Then whilst my son was washing his hands he asked the following question...
'Mum, how do you get the baby out of your tummy?'
Thanks 'happy birthday Jesus.'
In my exhausted 'almost bath time state I simply answered its like doing a huge, 'naughty poo'.