Today we decided to go on an Expedition. To Tesco’s. Mr B (aka Grandad) would have been proud of us.
We reckoned Tesco’s
was just about as far as the Middle of the Darling Daughters should walk, taking into account the fact that we would certainly have a pit-stop for a coffee before wending our way homewards. We also had a rather long list of things to buy, including Baby
Boy stuff (which would be fun) as well as boring stuff like food. The New Dad said he had never heard anyone make such a fuss about going to the shops.
idea had been to take Baby Boy on the expedition, by way of an outing, but in the end we decided that it was really, really cold out and he is, after all, only just over a week old. It’s not as if he’s a seasoned Alpine explorer. Yet. So the
Middle of the Darling Daughters and I set off together in the wintry sunshine, remembering on the way that one of the reasons we had wanted to take Baby Boy with us was that most of our shopping would have been stowed in the shopping bag that came attached
to his Super-Buggy. This meant a radical re-think of what we could manage to carry home with us, given my weak wrists and the fact that the M of the DDs is not allowed to carry anything heavier than her baby for the next six weeks.
Tomorrow we will go to Wimbledon where, even if it is still cold, we can wander round the indoor shopping centre out of the chill, loading up the Super-Buggy with all the things we
couldn’t carry home this morning. That’s the plan anyway but you know how it is with new-born babies – adaptability is the name of the game.
the afternoon we had a visitor bearing a perfectly scrumptious carrot cake. The baker of the carrot cake is expecting her first baby any time now so welcomed the insights into childbirth and the immediate aftermath which the Middle of the Darling Daughters
was happy to provide. Me – I just ate the carrot cake...
We also introduced Young Faris to the gym today. It wasn’t exactly the treadmill / exercise
bike / step trainer type of a gym, you understand – more the Baby Variety. The New Dad (who likes to work out) says it can’t be called a gym, with its jungle creepers, stuffed giraffe, crackly leaves and shiny mirrors. But as baby gyms go, it’s
certainly got a whole lot going for it. All we need to do is find out which kind of batteries it takes and Baby Boy shall have an all-singing, all-dancing gym to work out in. Like father, like son.
For the present, as far as musical accompaniment goes, Faris is the proud owner of The Sheep. The Sheep is tied by its tail onto the end of Baby Boy’s Moses basket. He is fluffy white with a purple head. I had never
seen a purple-headed sheep before but there is a first time for everything, they say. The Sheep also has four purple legs (yes, quite!) each of which, when pressed, emits a different sound for the space of 20 minutes. One leg plays a lullaby, another the sound
of a heart beating, a third, “white noise”, while the fourth leg plays the sound of falling rain.
So impressed am I with The Sheep that I am considering
purchasing one for Mr B, for those times when he wakes up at four in the morning and can’t get back to sleep. “Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain” I shall say, as I press The Sheep’s purple leg.
Mr B’s response will remain strictly between him and me...