I signed up for this – but I wasn’t anticipating Lola’s new BFF being Jesus

Lola told me yesterday a baby is being born. “That’s nice! Whose baby,” I ask her. I haven’t noticed anyone pregnant at the school gates. But she’s so animated it’s got me thinking: I’m doing a big clear-out and I’ve got tons of baby kit: prams, cots, bouncers, sleep pods, breast pumps. Maybe this is the good home I've been looking for? 

I ask her again: “Which friend at school is having a new brother or sister?” But when I press her for an answer – she’s confused. It dawns on me something is a bit off.  She is mumbling something about it being born in the church at Christmas and wants to go out shopping for it. 

I take a  deep breath and look her square in the eyes and say: “Is this baby called Jesus by any chance ?” “Yes!” she whoops with excitement. “How did you guess the little baby’s name?” That’s when I realise her religious education is kicking off in full force.  

What did I expect? We had to sign up for Sunday school just to get her in.  But later that evening, I do a double-take as I glimpse the word “god” on a piece of paper as she practices her writing before realising she is trying to write “dog”. I’ve got to stop looking for signs that she is being brainwashed. What’s wrong with good old Christian values?  

But is it too late to find out how serious RE is? Do they talk to them about hell. Are they filling her head with fire and brimstone? I gulp in horror. How far are they going to take it? Will the next step be she thinks I’m a sinner? Can I find the headmaster and talk to him honestly about my concerns? A teacher? I can’t – they all think I’m religious. Or do they? It’s hardly a topic for the Zoom parents meeting that is coming up. Or is it? 

It’s no easier talking to the other mums at the school gate. Now we’re all in face masks, it’s impossible to read their expressions or body language. I’m in an episode of The Handmaid’s Tale – I don’t know who to trust.  

It’s true I wanted Lola to have the best education I could find her – without paying the price tag.  But even if my newfound zeal for going to church was to win her a place, there have been a lot of positives I hadn’t expected: a caring community, candles and a feeling of serenity when I walk into the building.  But I wasn’t anticipating Jesus becoming Lola’s new BFF.  

Who will understand? Is my new best mum friend at Lola’s school singing from the same hymn sheet as me? Or is she a fervent believer in Christianity? I suddenly feel on edge. I feel alone. I know I’m not  but I feel like I’m the only one. It’s not that I’m against religion, I just want to teach Lola to make up her own mind. 

It’s going to be a harder job than I thought. There is no escaping the word of God. I have to accept she’s going to be taught to believe in the Bible hook line and sinker.  How will it impact her? Only God knows. Is she going to start quoting passages from the Corinthians? Will her drawings be filled with religious iconography? Will I have to go along with it all like I do Father Christmas? 

There’s no going back now. It’s like going into labour and shouting “I've changed my mind” – as I did in the C-section operation. Lola is fully ensconced in reception class, and loving it.

I wonder what do the rest of my family think? My sister, Rebecca, is proudly flying the flag for Christianity and she’s admitted she fancies her vicar.  I once went round for tea and her children were re-enacting the crucifixion in the back yard for fun. I can’t get the image of the two broomsticks with one of nieces attached to it out of my head. I decide not to ask her. My dad says: “Don’t interfere with Lola’s religious education.” But he can’t talk. When we were kids he demanded we went to church, but the moment something went wrong, he announced: “There is no God!” 

I found a higher power in 12-step recovery – it is a vital part of the programme – but it can be anything you want it to be: a tree, a candle, God, the universe – even the power of the group. It’s not about worship but inner change. 

Then my mum friend Mel warns me: “The bigger the Bible the bigger the crook.” So where does this leave me? 

I sit Lola down for a chat – she’s only four but I think she’s ready: “You know at your school and church you will be taught about Jesus and God – Christianity – but there are lots of gods people believe in – Budha, Allah, even energy. You can make up your own mind one day.” 

She can’t really absorb the information. “But for now, let’s just buy Jesus a present,” I say. “Yes!” she replies. “We can buy Jesus bibs, rattles, and these things called onesies.” 

Oh my God, I’ve got seven years of this.