Did you ever feel like you were in a Talking Heads song? I can’t remember the name of it but specifically the one that goes; “You may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?”
I’ve being feeling like that a lot of the time since Baby D arrived. Definitely after attending my first mother and baby group, being slightly appalled by all the spitty-uppy, wailing, pooey infants, then remembering that one of them was mine; humming Israeli lullabies sitting cross legged in a circle of women in a Baby Massage course; wondering how to solve the problem of baby and a poo being in the bath at the same time; every time I get excited about a sale in Mothercare, honestly the list is endless. (And that’s not even counting the whole experiencing of giving birth to the little fella, although that’s probably more a ‘Psycho Killer’ feeling!)
The other day I was in a playground for the first time since I was seven, chatting with friends of ours, all of us keeping an eye on our various aged kids. One couple would have been our default gig buddies and shared obscure band obsessions with Hubbie; the other girl I didn’t know well but was single handedly responsible for us tearing through Gatwick airport in a panic trying to find an internet terminal to book R.E.M rehearsal show tickets and nearly missing our train to Brighton. There we stood, on a Sunday afternoon marvelling at the soft surfaces they’ve got in playgrounds now for the kids to bounce off when they fall, and that song started playing in my head again.
Later Baby D sat in a swing for the first time. He looked small and unsteady, the swing seat looked very large. I gave him a push and his little face looked around solemnly, chubby legs dangling, totally fearless.
“Imagine all the mad stuff you might end up doing in the future.” I said to him. “You might even end up climbing Everest. And I’m here with you for your very first swing; a once in a lifetime moment! Aren't I lucky.”
Then I gave him a kiss on the top of his head and we went home.
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