The other day I saw a young mother out with a baby...it was so swathed in blankets it must have been very young. Mother had the baby in a three-wheeled sort of push-chair...it looked as though it had been extremely expensive...but she couldn't see the baby at all unless she stopped pushing the chair for a minute and walked round to the front...
I think that's really odd.
Time and again I see pushchairs...no-one appears to have a pram anymore...where the child is facing away from the person who's doing the pushing...you can't talk to your baby like that...you can't point out a dog going for a walk or cows in a field or a fire-engine going by...
You can't pull silly faces or jiggle the pram up and down to make the child laugh...actually I can't recall the last time I watched a young mother or father having fun while pushing their child somewhere or other...they have a 'phone clamped to their ear in a vice like grip and, all too often, a sour expression on their face. As though they really wanted to be somewhere else entirely.
I had a wonderful pram...it was enormous...had big wheels and a proper hood...I'd stuff my twins under the hood and older son would sit at the end with his feet dangling over the side...off we'd go. We waited by the level crossing for a train to go racing past...stood by field gates admiring the cows who leaned over and slobbered...patted horses noses and said hello to passing dogs...oooed and ahhed over pussy cats sitting on windowsills...we picked dandelion heads and blew the fairies away...
We had fun.
Before they could speak properly, we still had long conversations...a bit one-sided mind you...but they'd babble away happily and that was enough.
Many years later when we were asked would we take a newborn baby before she was adopted I asked for a big old-fashioned pram...the vague and totally useless Social Worker thought I was being silly...we'll give you a decent pushchair she said...I said not...I wanted a proper pram so I could put our fragile little foster child at one end and the baby at the other...I wanted to replicate the days of my birth children's babyhood when we walked all afternoon with the dog running ahead...me bouncing the pram to make them all curl up laughing...stopping on a wide verge for a rest and to eat the sandwiches I'd brought...the babies sitting side by side slurping from their respective bottles...cheeks scarlet from the sun...fat brown legs and beaming smiles.
Those girls with their sober faces and skin-tight jeans, who act as though their small child has nothing to do with them...the pure pleasures they are missing with their expensive pushchairs and ever present cell 'phones.
My children were never perfect...I wasn't the perfect mother...having once thrown a plate of spaghetti Bolognese at eldest son when he was about fifteen...he ducked and it hit the kitchen wall behind him.
Took ages to clean it off.
Childhood passes too quickly...I'd love to stop one of those young women and tell them that.