This morning I woke up feeling pretty darn perky. The sun was shining, I’d just had six glorious hours of uninterrupted slumber after a few tricky nights and I’d just had an email confirming my long overdue and quite sizable Topshop order had been dispatched.
Even finding we’d run out of milk, thus leaving me without my morning coffee fix couldn’t dampen my spirits.
Henry and I were heading to the Yorkshire Sculpture Park with my impossibly chic friend Hannah and her 13-month-old, my beautiful goddaughter. I was confident it was going to be a good day. I imagined a lovely walk in the sunshine with a side of coffee, a girly catch up and a little playtime on the grass for the babes to stretch their legs – because we all know it’s such a hard life being a baby.
What actually happened was a stark contrast to my idealistic vision. Unbeknown to us we’d parked in the ‘yellow car park’ so we had to navigate two pushchairs through several gates and sheep filled fields in order to get into the park. When we bought our pushchair we watched a lovely demonstration video about how the wheels were suited to all types of surface and would handle the even roughest of terrain with ease. Well let me tell you – that is a lie. Or it was not tested in the sheep fields on the outskirts of the Yorkshire Sculpture Park. Funny that.
Henry didn’t appreciate the bumpy ride and started to whinge. But it was ok, nothing a enthusiastic rendition of ‘Five Little Ducks’ couldn’t fix. We asked a refined looking man if he knew where the cafe was. He said it was behind… something – a word beginning with ‘a’ that I’ve never heard before. We said thank you, smiled and nodded though still non the wiser and continued along. The refined looking man must have been referring to a tunnel because when we emerged out of it the cafe was in sight.
Lunch was lovely and chatter filled until a code brown situation brought it to an abrupt end. The baby change was full so, sensing time was of the essence we found a quiet spot… but it was too late. Henry was covered in an explosion of poo; up his back, down his arms….obviously on the day I forgot to bring a spare outfit. He’s naked on the grass, trying to roll around, feet in the grass, hands in the poo, trying to put both his hands and his feet in his mouth… Any tips on how to keep an increasingly mobile baby still while having a nappy change are welcome. Feeling like a complete failure of a mother I put him back in the pushchair in his nappy and – trying to preserve his modesty – his jacket, and set back off walking. Clearly unimpressed he became increasingly upset, as I would be if I were to be paraded through a public park in my underwear. So back in the sheep fields we are, I’m covered in sweat and a little out of breath panting my way through ‘Five Little Ducks’ (which I’m not sure went swimming in the correct numerical order) trying not to look nervous walking past a herd of sheep, one of which has quite an aggressive ‘baa’ and is stamping its feet.
Eventually, after feeling pretty stressed we got back to the car. What I learned today is that rough terrain and babies make for a chaotic combo.
As a side note, how fabulous is Hannah’s outfit? If you’re ooking for outfit inspiration, beauty recommendations or just a great read, check out her blog, Cagney and Lace.