August 2009 Archives

The thing about taking your kids out to kid friendly places in the summer hols is that these places are usually full of, well, kids.

Not that there's anything wrong with that - it's not like I particularly dislike other people's children - just not in such large numbers and not when they're being parented by people who are at the wrong end of the summer break.

These mums (and sometimes dads) are invariably counting the seconds till their little darlings are packed off back to school. Good parenting practise was thrown to the wind two days after the kids broke up and a blind eye is now being turned to all but the very worst behaviour.

Fraught mothers pretend they can't see their little one climbing up the slide, causing the children on the way down to fall either side like shelled peas. Little Johnny is left unhindered to wipe the contents of his nose on the swings because his mom simply can't face explaining for the hundredth time this holiday why he should use a tissue.

When The Other Half's parents (The Outlaws) said they were taking us all out for a picnic yesterday lunchtime, I expected nothing more than a lovely day sitting in a park somewhere, watching The Boy and The Kid kick a ball around.

We were in for the surprise of our lives when, as we were following them down a country lane not so very far away from Solihull, they indicated left at a sign saying 'This way to the beach!'.

I'd always thought that professional baby photos are a waste of time and money. In my younger days I spent a fortune of 'proper' pics of The Boy as a baby and toddler because I thought that's just what mums did.

I thought it was part of parenthood to haul your offspring down to Boots, hand lots of cash over to a photographer and try and spend ages trying to get your child to pull nice faces.

Looking back now I'm left with dusty old baby photos of a sleeping baby Boy looking like any other baby in the world. I've also got toddler photos of him sitting under a big lamp wearing uncharacteristic clothes saying "Cheese" as many times as he could bear.

So when not-so-pregnant-Sarah brought out the baby photos she had done of Monica I began to stifle a yawn, and prepared to look at what I thought would be mundane snaps of a sleeping baby.

I was so wrong.

They were beautiful photos of Monica and her family. I don't know how to say this, but it was just so them. They were beautiful photos; pretty, unusual and really special.

"30 year old women might feel healthy, not smoke and have a good diet, but that doesn't mean their ovaries are working properly."

Cheers. Thanks for that. Just what you want to hear on Radio 4 as you're dropping off to sleep. As if listening to radio 4 at night time wasn't enough to make me feel old, now it's telling me that come 30 my child bearing days are all but over.

A nice little sound-bite for all of those circa-30-ladies who nearly dared to feel happy about who they are and their place in the world. Just as you're about to congratulate yourself for having a successful relationship, good job, nice home you're told that inside you're as shrivelled and baron as a mouldy old prune.