This week the world has mostly been telling me that I need more stuff.
Well… that’s not entirely true…
Perhaps the louder 50 per cent of my world has been telling me I need more stuff. Sure, I have a flat, a car and a job – but that apparently isn’t enough. My flat is upstairs (a schoolboy error)… my car was all I could afford, but isn’t particularly safe… and my job is emotionally draining and time-consuming.
When you announce you are pregnant, you immediately attract a horde of well-wishing civilians ready to bombard you with advice. These people present you with an unending list of worries, things you are doing wrong, and stuff that you simply won’t be able to live without.
Until a few days ago I had no idea what a travel system was (I’m still not sure), but I found myself wondering this week how I could be so foolish as to think about having a baby without one. Then there’s the cot, the moses basket, the breast pump (the mind boggles), and the changing table. It’s exhausting. It’s a wonder any of us ever survived without the advice of the loud 50 per cent.
Thankfully there is another 50 per cent. They are the ones who reassure you that they’ll help, and say stuff like:
‘I’ve got one of those you can have.’
‘You’ll figure it out.’
‘That’s how I felt.’
So all our stuff might not be shiny and new, getting into our flat might be a bit of an adventure and our car won’t turn many heads or fit many gadgets, but I’m guessing that the little fella won’t mind too much.
