>> Monday, 29 September 2008
...for the greatest answer to baby-broodiness you will ever hear of!
Oh yes indeedy, laydees! Are you reaching that 'certain age'? Do you find yourself casting wistful glances at cute little bundles of joy you pass on the street? Does the smell of newly washed baby cause you to cast all thoughts of caution to the wind?
In short, are you finding yourself afflicted by baby hunger when you know it would be madness to give in to it?
Fear not! I have the answer! No longer need you find yourself momentarily blinded to the pitfalls of re-entering the baby fog for a 2nd, 3rd, 4th, or even (Madame Pig) a 5th time when confronted with those little packages of sweetness known as babies!
'What is it?' I hear you ask. 'Tell us, dear Potty! What is the answer? How can we rid ourselves of these pesky hormonal urges? Show me how to lock that dastardly Mother Nature out of my well-ordered 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 (add more numbers as appropriate) child household once and for all?'
The answer, my dears, is simple.
Take your 2 year old to a wedding.
Smile smugly as you enter the church, congratulating yourself on your foresight in bringing cars, colouring books and trains to keep your little poppet amused during the important parts of the ceremony. Beam gently at the young mum in front of you cradling a bright-eyed and beautifully behaved 5 month old little girl, and watch indulgently as the little trollop (the baby, that is, not the mum) makes eyes at your husband...
Sensibly refuse the offer from the church warden of a bench halfway up the church, reasoning that the back of the church might prove less noticeable should your older little angel be caught short.
Grimace understandingly at the family with the badly behaved little one a few rows in front, thinking 'gosh, we're lucky my boys are used to going to church. At least we can rely on them to behave themselves'.
Glance surprisedly at your little darling as he throws his cars noisily to the floor and tries to post his train down the radiator behind your pew.
Whisper calmly as your husband's son begins to wriggle free of your grasp, making a bid for freedom in the direction of the children's corner you didn't notice when you made your foolish choice of seat, but which is now in plain view and which it has become Boy #2's dearest wish to visit.
Wait for the first hymn to begin to scuttle over to said corner, half-inch a Postman Pat soft toy and bring it back to him in the certain knowledge that this will keep him happy for the next 40 minutes of the service.
Watch in disbelief as he discards it and demands Minnie Mouse - very loudly - at a quiet moment. (For pete's sake! Does he even know who Minnie Mouse is? Has the babysitter been putting on the Disney channel?)
Send his older brother over to fetch requested doll in hope of a quiet life, only to...
Shrink as he waits for the priest to stop talking long enough to shout 'I want Bob the Builder!' at the top of his voice.
Calmly ask him to be quiet, and recoil, as in just as loud a voice as before he answers back 'Why? Why?'
Mutter under your breath that this is quite enough thankyou, as you scoop your younger son up and whisk him out of the church, only to...
Teeter precariously as your patent leather heels sink 3 centimeters deep into the grass of the wet churchyard whilst you chase your cheeky 2 year old in and out of tombstones.
Curse - not so quietly - as you ladder your tights (would like to say stockings here but I cannot tell a lie, they were control-top) on a rose bush.
Curse - a little louder - as you realise that the unpleasant smell you have become of aware during the chase is in fact emanating from your not-yet-potty-trained son.
Whisk him away for a change session in the back of the car, and once you get there, realise that you have left the change bag - along with the toys, books and snacks - on the floor under the bench. In the church.
Stomp crossly back up the path in your muddy shoes, smelly boy in tow, to retrieve said bag.
Sneak back into the church for furious whispered exchange with confused Husband who professes no knowledge of the bag until it is located behind his legs.
Steam righteously back to the car with smelly boy and the bag to change the nappy.
Tiptoe back into the service with younger son after delivering a brief lecture on behaving himself at his ex-nanny's wedding, to be greeted by older son bursting into tears when his request for a biscuit is met by blank incomprehension on your part as to how 5 years of 'no food in church' could translate into 'can I have a snack now, please?'
Glance at husband in complete frustration.
Crack up in a fit of hysterical shared giggles that you are powerless to control as it dawns on both of you simultaneously that you - yes, you - are the parents least likely to win the prizes for well-behaved children at this wedding, and that there is...
SOD ALL YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT!
So that's it, laydees. Want to cure the baby hunger? Take your existing children to a wedding...
No, no, put your chequebooks away. There will be no charge levied for this priceless information. Think of it as a gift from me to you...