Middle Class Problems: Feeling like a failure on the nursery pick-up

Marianne Levy wishes she could speak out when the staff comment on her child's play

(Corbis)

I always feel a bit of a failure on the nursery pick-up, attempting to wrestle my daughter into her coat as I hear how enthusiastically she consumed the broccoli I can never get her to eat at home.

This time, the staff were a-buzz. "She danced!" they cried. "Look!" Then they showed me a video of my daughter holding hands with a little boy, the pair of them as happy as children can be.

"Her first boyfriend," smiled her carer. "They're in love," added another girl.

"You'll have to watch her when she's older," said the manager.

Here is what I should have said: "Why should I watch her when she's older? Are you implying, even as a joke, that there's something promiscuous about her play? And why do you think it's funny to sexualise a child?" You might think this an overreaction, but it happens all the time: in cafés, in the park, on the bus; I've been told that she's a flirt, that she has her pick of the boys, that she's giving them the come-on – and she's not yet two.

But I didn't. I didn't say any of it. I never do. Embarrassment overcame me, and I said, "Ha ha. See you tomorrow."

Then she and I went into the night and sang "Twinkle, Twinkle" together as my face burned.

And I realised that I can live with the botched sleep training, the fumbled nappy changes and the abandoned broccoli. Yes, there are times when I feel like a failure. Me and every other parent in the world. In the end, though, that stuff doesn't really matter.

But this, this does matter. So next time, I'm going to get it right.