Repetition, repetition, repetition

It's been a while. Again. I think the reason I'm less prolific than was once the case is that, the longer my parenting experience continues, the fewer surprises it provides. If I were to describe it as thoroughly as I used to I would be at grave risk of subjecting you, my army of dedicated fans, to repetition. And nobody wants that. And nobody wants that.

Please don't infer that I'm unhappy about the predictable nature of my family life; children are big fans of routine and I'm something of a variety-phobe myself, if I'm honest. It's just that it doesn't make great reading. I could, for example, describe the horrors of the fever our youngest daughter has suffered for the past three nights, which has seen her temperature come within a sweat bead of 40 degrees celsius on each occasion. We've spent the early hours of the last two mornings plunging her hastily into a cold bath, in desperate and, mercifully, successful attempts to stave off hospital visits.

But my point was that this is not the first time I've detailed an ailment suffered by my youngest daughter. Her considerable abundance of qualities does not include her immune system. She's got a bit of a reputation for it. So no: I won't talk about that. She's been much better today actually, despite still suffering from the kind of rasping cough you'd expect from an ageing stoner. We'll see.

One development which is very new to us is the prospect of sending our eldest to school. She's not due to start for close to a year, but we must decide upon a shortlist of preferences for exactly where she starts within the next couple of months. What's curious is that nobody tells you this stuff. Without a conscientious nature and a helpful sister, this crucial requirement would have remained unknown to me. But fortunately I have a conscientious nature and a helpful sister, so I have spent a large amount of my recent spare time researching and phoning local schools. But there must be people who lack both of these advantages. How are the venues for their children's early learning decided? It's a sinister mystery. Anyway, I've sought advice from teachers and parents I know and I've made various appointments to be treated to guided tours of the more promising schools. I have behaved like a grown-up.

Tomorrow, I fear that this mask will slip. For the first of these appointments looms large, and I feel exposed and under-prepared. What do grown-up, prospective parents wear to school tours? What questions do they ask? Does it relieve or increase the awkwardness caused by the ridiculous, fledgling moustache they are sporting, if they explain that it's for charity? In theory, it should surely be the schools that feel a need to impress the parents, rather than vice versa. But we're told that places are at a premium, so the pressure's on.

I seek consolation in reminding myself that I have always claimed proximity, rather than ambition or attainment, as the primary consideration for primary school. But now the decision has advanced beyond the hypothetical, that conviction will be tested. Perhaps hidden pride is the exposure I'm really afraid of. We'll see.

As with all of these parental fears, we can at least take solace in the thought that experience will make this situation easier the second time around, when it's our youngest's turn. Thank goodness for repetition.