… and AGAIN, it came out of nowhere.
You’d think I’d have got used to it by now. Aifric growing up.
She’s in her big girl pram. I don’t know what else to call it… her little girl pram was called the bassinet. This is… I don’t know – we’ll stick with her ‘big girl pram’.
It was after a trip to Clapham Junction. Super-pram-friendly Clapham Junction with its flashy Willy Wonka lifts on each platform. It was going to be a chilled day out. After meeting a friend and her baby for lunch – #MatLeaveLife – we made our way to the station. Now, for those of you who haven’t gone ‘lift only’ at the big CJ… you have to begin your lift story at one end of the station – and if you enter the station from the shopping entrance end – my WORD there is some distance to trek. Once you eventually make it to the lift in question, up you go to the footbridge and then have to find the corresponding lift to get back down to your desired platform. It sounds complicated. It isn’t. And I am extremely extremely grateful to CJ and its many lifts. It’s just when you have a baby who wants to be upright, looking out at the world, it’s a little bit of a struggle…
Aifric had increasingly been getting more and more irritable in her bassinet. She is a curious little thing and wants to look around, peer into other people’s business – if she could offer an opinion – or advice – she would. It was as we entered the station that she started to kick off. Big time. Nothing was calming that baby down. So I made the ill-informed decision to carry her through the entire station in one arm whilst pushing the pram with its nappies and shopping hanging off the side with the other. She’s a baby – how heavy could she be?! Turns out, pretty heavy. She was living her best life. I was not.
I got tendonitis in my left arm and that was the end of the that.
So big girl pram, here we are. I don’t know what I was expecting. What I wanted from the last ride in the bassinet. I didn’t know it would be so soon after that.
Actually I know exactly what I wanted. I wanted to ceremoniously parade my bassinet pram through the streets of south London for one last time. I wanted a fanfare. I wanted to soak up the sympathetic looks from the general public that I was a new mum. I wanted to get that knowing, understanding smile from other mums – the one that says – well done you for recently pushing out a baby. The one that says – I feel for you that you may have had a sleepless night. The smile that KNOWS you haven’t put on any make up or brushed your hair for a REASON. I wanted people to look at me and think – there goes a lovely young woman with a newborn baby.
But now. Now we are in the big girl pram. It signifies that I am old hat at this. That I know what I am doing (I BLOODY DO NOT). That I have a grown-up baby. A baby who can hold its own head up, whose neck muscles are STRONG. And now the reason I haven’t brushed my hair is because I dropped my hairbrush down the loo. The reason I haven’t put any make up on is because, quite frankly, I literally cannot be arsed.
*PHOTO: Aifric hanging out in her big girl pram