The continuing diary of an accidental mother - Week 34
This week the bump took command of the mothership. All things ego-related receded into the background as I prepared for metamorphosis, from woman to 'mother' or 24 hour service station. Branded with a thick black line, a primal print of 'Keep Off' ran the length of my curvature. I no longer belonged to myself - preparations were pressing, a list drawn up of all things a baby would require in the first six months. I was a woman on a mission and in search of a bargain.
"From here on in," I barked at the Glam Rocker. "The key words are quality, practicality and affordability. Sexiness has left the building. I repeat sexiness has left the building."
This was so not rock and roll. The Glam Rocker and I had reached a relationship juncture or should I say junction - this was as middle of the road as it would get.
We were in John Lewis ascending into another realm; that of the fourth floor dedicated to selling everything relating to babies and children. The Glam Rocker was bewildered. He has never been in such an environment. Who'd have reckoned babies needed so much kit? In contrast I took on the Stepford wife persona a zombified shopper willingly dictated to by those clever marketing men who had placed certain, 'must have, must have,' objects within my eye range.
"OMG that is so cute!"
"Don't you think that's cute?"
"How cute! Yes it is. Yches it is..."
The Glam Rocker was mortified, "You're drooling..."
"Muslins, don't let me forget the muslins."
The cast iron list (which I swore I would not veer from) did not see the light of day. I thought I was purchasing just the essentials but on our return discovered we had spent a couple of hundred quid on nothing. Nothing of any use really except for the most grotesque of maternity bras. I'd disrobed in the changing room and wept, such was the sight that befell my eyes, the saddest view of all. Ooh for certain the glory days were long over, the pleasure domes were flagging.
Post-John Lewis I continued on the hunt of reduced priced baby paraphernalia. Word had spread there was a nearly new 'baby' sale in the affluent area of Holland Park. The yummy mummies were having a spring clean. All the savvy lady-bumps with restricted budgets were out in full force. I was there in the scrum and managed to nab a bargain, a Bill Amberg baby carrier. A perfect present for the Glam Rocker, it was so Dalston, so cool, understated, leather and cotton, with a saddle bag vibe. Now that was Rock and Roll.
I also picked up a Baby Bjorn chair and later that evening an entire baby travel system for £25 quid. Yes I repeat an entire travel system. Okay, so status wise the Interloper and I wouldn't be winning any prizes. It was a bashed up baby buggy stroller - but for the first six months it would do.
Austerity measures were called for. I was going retro - anti aspirational - you can keep your grand plus Silver Crosses, Fendi, Stokke, Bugaboos. This ancient Graco had it all, notwithstanding a very generous under carriage basket plus two cup holders; one for coffee, the other for cocktails and wait for it; a secret middle compartment. This I reckoned was for one's non liquid narcotics, wink wink, of the sugar rush variety, otherwise known as cake.Suggest a correction