PARENTING MATTERS: Column

Sugarplum fairy to sleepyhead
I am now a fully-fledged ballet mum.
I have done the hair and the make-up. I have done the rehearsal drop-offs and pick-ups. I have gifted the Ballet Barbie on opening night in lieu of flowers.
And I have mopped up the meltdown tears.
Yep, it's show time. Pre-school style.
"She'll be right," I thought when I enrolled Miss Four in ballet, knowing full well that term four would culminate in a full-blown show on the big stage.
The classes rolled by and each week Miss Four came home happy and enthused, protesting only when she had to get out of her ballet gear.
And then came the week of ... drum roll ... the show.
Day One of rehearsals I sent her along fresh-faced and freckled with her hair scrunched in a scruffy topknot, only to be met by tightly coiled buns, scarlet lips and kohled eyes.
Oops.
By day three, she was in full make-up and I had attempted my first bun.
Neither was an easy feat. Her 4-year-old flyaway hair had to be glued down with copious amounts of hairspray and, at one point, I was straddling her as she lay on her back after deciding an aerial view was going to be the best vantage point for applying eyeliner.
The result was a cross between a garish clown and mini-Miss America contestant.
And when she got in the back of her friend's car and I saw the pair of them sitting there fluttering their mascara-coated eyelashes I had a terrible glimpse of the future.
As the costs mounted up - hair-pins, lipstick, costume hire, tickets - I hoped it would all be worth it.
Opening night was met with excitement and apprehension. Mine.
Would she make it on to the stage? And if she did would she remember what to do?
As the glitter of tutus shuffled across the floor I scanned the little painted faces for our sugarplum fairy.
She fluttered, she pirouetted and, at times looked a little lost, but she made it through the routine and my heart was full to bursting with pride.
At half-time, clutching on tightly to her Ballet Barbie, she joined us for the rest of the show.
Her eyes were as wide as saucers as she watched some of the more seasoned dancers glide across the stage.
But, half an hour later, she burst into tears and asked to go home to bed.
"Can I stay home tomorrow night?" she pleaded. "As a special treat."
"We'll see how you feel in the morning," I placated her, thinking I could do with a special treat myself.