March of the Babies

I remember when undergoing the gauntlet of shopping in Mothercare for the first time, being bewildered by the phrase ‘Daytime Naps’ bandied about by the smug shop assistants. For first time, aka clueless, parents it’s easy to be tricked into forking out more money for Moses baskets, travel systems (not prams anymore)and other accoutrements especially for the Daytime Nap. “Why don’t they sleep in the same place as they do at night time,” I used to wonder. Not out loud obviously in case the scary we-know-it-all-and-you-know-nothing-and-don’t-you-forget-it shop assistants sneered me out of the shop. Anyway my scepticism must have rubbed off onto Baby D, as we seem to have a baby that firmly does not believe in daytime naps- no matter where he’s put. Understandable I suppose, when you’ve an all-purpose entertainment system at your beck and call ready to tickle, sing, dance, read and cuddle; and if Mammy gets tired Daddy is ready to take over. Baby D hasn’t read the union rules about having a 15 minute break every few hours and I’ve given up on getting him to nap successfully on demand.
I’ve tried. Oh yes, I’ve tried. I’ve quoted the Baby Whisperer and Gina Ford to him, but nothing. In fairness he will happily snooze if I hold him and for the first 8 weeks he was a permanent fixture in the crook of my left arm. He would happily lie there for hours, hands folded Zen-like on his belly, his face a picture of bliss; until I dared to put him anywhere else. I swiftly discovered that a steely determination lay underneath those placid, chubby cheeks and after a brief battle of wills, Baby D, having all the time in the world to protest, rapidly emerged the victor. However, in order to prevent repetitive strain injury to my arm a compromise was reached and after a belly full of milk I can now trick him into chilling out in the buggy, so long as we walk quickly!
So every afternoon,in order to recharge my batteries, I undertake a 2 hour speed walk around the city , which should be doing wonders for my post baby figure except once Baby D has succumbed to the anaesthetic effect of the buggy I tend to collapse gratefully into a coffee shop to refuel any calories I may have lost. I’m certainly not the only Mother and baby marching around and I suspect that similar agreements may have been brokered throughout the city.
In fact as I write this, another Mum has deftly manoeuvred her buggy into a postage stamp sized space in the coffee shop and flopped down wearily. I can guarantee that just as she inhales the steaming aroma from her mug of coffee and picks up the paper, a pair of beady eyes will pop open, size up the situation and wait… just until Mum brings the forkful of delicious cake to her mouth, before saying loudly…
“WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”