Funny story following on from the other week when our Health Visitor lovingly referred to Teddy’s weight and height measurements as ‘Abnormally large’.
“It was Sunday afternoon just gone, a lovely crisp wintery day, and upon realising that Teddy was teething and therefore extremely cranky, I thought it would be a good idea to find something to do to get us out of the house and distract both of us from the whole painful process (if anything, for the sake of my ears). I happened upon a little village event that was advertised as a ‘Christmas Fair – FREE ENTRY’ online and the words ‘Christmas’ and ‘FREE’ sounded perfect to while away a couple of hours.
Off we went, Teddy squidged into his carseat (really need to get him another now… he looks like a washing up sponge thats been wedged into a teacup) and asleep within seconds of the engine humming to life, and myself enjoying some chilled out music on BBC Radio 2 and soaking up the Sunday vibes…. despite my windscreen getting shit on by a skilled seagull and my windscreen wipers running out of water.
NOTE: Ended up using water from bottle warmer in baby bag. Cold milk vs Blocked windscreen… no brainer really.
The shitty windscreen should have been an omen really, especially when upon pulling up to park by little village fair and spotting a picturesque pond ahead of me – instead of quaint little ducks wading around demurely, great big stonking gulls were actually schlepping about in the water. I looked about me for the Christmas Fair Sign and a building that looked like a Village Hall (as had been noted in the advertisment online) and imagine my under whelmed expression when my eyes rested on a small dwelling, with a messily handwritten sign made out of a bed sheet saying ‘Xmas Fair’.
Gone were the Sanata’s grotto images in my head, and Christmas trees, baubles and tinsel.. all things glitter and sparkle. The dreamy thought of a large flagstone building with large double doors flung open and Christmas carols being sung by a choir on their way home from Sunday Service. I may have been a bit carried away… But a bed sheet plus someone who couldn’t even be bothered to write ‘Christmas’? All in front of a building that looked like a portacabin. Flying start on top of the seagull shit.
Lots of well to do types were milling around the pond, standing with hands clasped behind backs and legs spread waist width apart, nodding seriously and pointing out to the country landscape. Could hear a lot of ‘Ya, oh ya, ya’s as I grappled with getting my buggy out from the boot and into a functioning state in the muddy ditch I had parked alongside. Upon seeing Baby Bear still deep in slumber, I also had the the task of hoofing the heavy combination of his 23lbs of person plus clunky carseat onto the buggy’s adaptors to avoid waking him. By the time I had finished setting my buggy convoy up, complete with handbag and baby bag over handles, muttered lots of blue words as well as locked up the car, I realised all background conversations had ceased and could feel a few pairs of eyes burning into the back of my head.
A red faced me marched straight into the pokey village hall, only to be confronted by a space no larger than a generous living room, consisting of 7 stalls, not a Christmas decoration in sight and A LOT of inquisitive eyes searching for any sign of who I am and how likely I was to buy something. One stall had pencil drawings displayed. Very nice… but £70 was slightly out of my price range. Especially for a sketch of a badger. Another was for felt Christmas decorations. Again, nice but £4 each and none bigger than an acorn. More pictures and paintings, homemade wooden nesting boxes (some looked homelier and more spacey than the hall I was standing in) and one had a handmade shopping tote bag collection for sale. It looked promising, but upon picking it up, you could have probably only fit two items into it.
‘It’s very sturdy’, said an eager voice and I turned to see two ladies sitting by the long table the bags were laid out upon. The voice belonged to a tall lady, with messy hair and her arms wrapped round herself…. possibly to keep warm, possibly out of anxiety for not making any sales. There was a shorter, dumpier lady sat next to her who was eyeing up my pram.
‘They’re… um,’ I stuttered, lost for what to say. What I wanted to say was, ‘Of course they are sturdy… you can only fit two things in them’. But I managed ‘They’re very pretty’ and a smile.
Above the table and to the left above a wide doorway was a sign saying ‘Cafe’, and I could make out a table displaying homemade cakes and the smell of coffee so, seeing as I had made my way round the stalls in roughly 3 minutes, a slice of cake seemed like a good idea to kill more time. Baby Bear had woken up and was happily playing with an empty baby wipe packet, so I could afford to gamble a bit of quiet time for some refreshment.
I started to wheel the buggy round towards the doorway, and upon passing the dumpy lady who had been sat eyeballing my wheels, she suddenly jumped up and exclaimed ‘Ooooo HOW LOVELY!’ (In a Hyacinth Bouquet type of manner) before peering inside the hood of Baby’s carseat.
She instantly took a slight step back, hand on chest, and said ‘OH! I was expecting something smaller than THAT!’.
I was gobsmacked. All who know me would agree I can talk. I can chat until my voice goes away and I am not one to shy away from defending my own. But, I was genuinely at a loss of what to say and where to start with this woman. Something? Smaller?? THAT?! As I was registering these words, plus the judgemental expression on the woman’s face in front of AND all the nosey peering from everyone in the nearby vicinity (that’s what happens in small village halls I guess), trying to figure out whether to reply with a knee jerk reaction of ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘My apologies for disappointing you’, my little gem of a kid decided to retort for me. He simply threw his crinkly packet down into his lap, frowned my frown where the eyebrows crease like two wonky windscreen wipers, and let out a might ‘RRRRAAAAWWWWHHHHRRR’. At almost 7 months, my offspring handled judgment and ignorance more effectively than I have ever done in my 29 years. He also bought me time to collect my brain (and jaw off of the floor), put my nose up higher than theirs and proudly say ‘Yes… He’s my Monster Baby’.
And with that, we wheeled into the ‘Cafe’ and shared a burnt slice of carrot cake to sit in protest of ignorance and celebrate our victory over handling the village idiot.
Additional information and findings from this week:
– City Jogger Prams are built for Cities. Not casual jaunts along a duck… sorry… seagull pond. In the mud.
– Seagulls know when your windscreen wiper water has run out and find it funny to shit on your car and watch you frantically trying to rinse it on your way down the bypass.
– BBC Radio 2 can be either deadly boring or really relaxing, depending on your mood and the day of the week.
– I may have a penny jar and collect a £ any time Teddy’s size is commented on. I will have saved enough for a tumble dryer by the end of the month. It is definitely fascinating as he is the size of an average 1 year old. And comments aren’t a bad thing if made correctly. Referring to one’s precious being as ‘THAT’ is never looked upon kindly.
– A tumble dryer would be much appreciated because now the winter months are here, our radiators resemble clothes horses. They wear clothes more than we do.
– Baby is sitting up unaided for prolonged periods of time!!! Taylor Swift seems to be the best way to steady him… she is rather distracting I guess.
– Weaning is still loads of fun, although teething makes it a bit ouch for the poor mite at times. Fave foods are sweet potato, pasta, crumpet and burnt carrot cake.
– Teething is laborious. As soon as his first teeth makes it through, I am cracking open the champagne! Seriously…. we have a bottle waiting on ice.
– Teething also produces nappies that you need to brace yourself to clean. A shot of something strong to numb the senses would come in handy too.
– Baby has taken to having a chat to himself during the night, after his bottle and nappy change. I do my motherly duties, climb back into bed and just as I am sure we are all headed for slumber, he starts cooing and wooing and blowing raspberries to the darkness. Even the cats sit up as if to say ‘What… the…??’. As much as it keeps me from sleeping, I can’t resent it. It is my most favourite sound in the world. That and ‘RRRRAAAAWWWWHHHHRRR’ of course.
– PB’s lovely colleague at worked knitted Baby Bear a green light saber, complete with squeaker. He absolutely adores it! However, we all can’t help thinking that it actually looks rather phallic.
And seeing as it’s green, there were a lot of potty humoured jokes about the Hulk circling his workplace during the shift he received it. Someone innocently commented about how he could take it to bed and chew on it for teething…. If you are pure of mind, you will find that very sweet notion. For everyone else…. stop laughing, you should be ashamed of yourselves *giggles*.