Why my son is better suited to a minor role in the school Nativity

Alex has spent the last three weeks in a heightened state of euphoria as he struggled to come to terms with the fact he had landed the coveted role of Donkey in the school Nativity.

While the girls in his class crossed their fingers in the hopes they may secure the role of Mary, and the boys longed to be a Wise Man, my son wanted nothing more than the admirable role of the stable donkey.

Ecstatic that he landed the “most important part in the whole play” Alex turned to method acting as he mastered his braying and practiced his trotting.

“The whole thing hinges on my performance, Mum,” he told me earnestly as he took a deep breath and let out more indescrible donkey honks in my direction.

When I asked why the donkey held such significance, he rolled his eyes and explained that Mary and Joseph wouldn't have even made it as far as Bethlehem if it wasn't for him and his trusty trotting.

While acknowledging his point, I reminded him that the other children played equally important parts and it was vital he remembered that the play was a team effort.

Pretending to listen to me, I saw him attempt to conceal a scathing glance as he took another deep breath and prepared for the next onslaught of donkey honks.

Surprised by my normally reticent son's dedication to the task at hand, I delighted in the fact his shyness may take a backseat in his bid to do the role justice.

After three weeks of intense preparation, Alex took his spot on the stage this week and prepared to wow the crowds with his talent.

Wearing his older sisters furry bodywarmer, a pair of her knee-length wolly winter slippers and some velour jogging bottoms, Alex trotted back and forth across the stage on all fours, leading a weary Mary and a tired Joseph towards Bethleham.

Ten minutes into the play, I realised my son's devotion to the role was becoming a little hard for his co-stars to handle.

While attemtping to chat about the impeding arrival with her husband, Mary was dorwned out by my son's enthusiastic braying.

While attempting to negotiate with a slew of innkeepers, the couple's pleas fell on deaf ears as the propreitors attempted to hear over the din of my son's desperate donkey honks.

And while celebrating the arrival of the baby Jesus, the new mum made a valiant effort to ignore the fact her fur-legged friend had vomited at her feet.

Having done little more than bellow, bawl and bray for the duration of the play, it looks like my son's efforts had literally made him sick to the stomach.

Green around the gills and clearly overheating in his furry ensemble, Alex had fallen victim to a bodily function none of us wish to experience while performing in a vast audiotorium in front of dozens of people.

Taking control of the situation, my son's teacher quickly led him off the stage and I frantically made my way towards the dressing room while tripping over handbags and briefcases lying at the feet of proud parents.

Upon gaining entrance to the dressing room, I was stunned to find my son sporting, in addition to a grey pallor and sweaty brow, an ear-to-ear smile – not exactly what I expected as I considered the spectacle I had witnessed just moments before.

Crouching infront of him, I held out my arms and as he sunk into them, he croaked: ”I got them to Bethlehem, Mum!”

Talk about the dedication to the cause.