I knew it would happen at some point, I just didn’t expect it to start this early.
I have a few rational and many irrational fears in life – some of which are:
• Balloons – they pop, it scares me.
• Flying – it’s a control thing, I drive in London with people who have clearly bought their driving licence online and don't know what an indicator is. One of those morons could be sitting in the pilot seat of the next 747 I get on, not cool.
• Wrists – veins give me the creeps, I can’t even say the word ‘vein’ without shuddering.
• Being without food – I turn into an ankle-biting irrational maniac if I’m hungry and can’t locate food.
• Matching socks – I’ve been wearing odd socks so long now that I consider it bad luck to ever wear a pair that were once married. This is just part of my daily life but I have come across many people who quiz me about this, on spying the socks, as if there may be some deep philosophical meaning I am expressing. They subsequently think I am total weirdo because nope, it's just what I do.
Well, Mini B has started to become more adventurous now that he’s figured out his little legs can send him flying off at speed in opposite directions to me and he’s begun to be more daring in public places where I’m expected to look like a responsible and calm parent.
He wants to climb on climbing frames in playgrounds – perfectly normal of course, except I'm the sort of person who starts to mildly hyperventilate if I have to travel higher than 30cm off the ground. This makes ‘supervising’ him from a height tricky.
I nagged and nagged my parents for bunkbeds when I was small but when they arrived, I discovered that it took me half an hour to brave climbing the ladder to the top bunk and once there I became marooned, too weedy to get myself down again.
When I took Mini B to feed the ducks recently, what should have been a rather stereotypically jolly morning feeding the ducks turned into a frightfest by the mass duck convention descending upon us as our lowly piece of bread dwindled. I swear if they'd been human, they'd have been the equivalent of the bunch of lairy yoofs who hang around outside Old Kent Road Tesco's that you daren't make eye contact with in case they ask you for money and you're forced to start mumbling about contactless payment and lack of change.
So I’m learning to get.on.with.it and suck up my oddities so that Mini B isn’t doesn’t have to be confined to the baby swings until “Fun Dad” comes along for some decent playtime. But I still freak and have to make wide berth when we encounter a balloon because all mini people do that thing where they scratch and squeeze the thing with their little paws clearly willing it to burst in their little faces. I'm usually frantically biting my nails in a corner at this point. Pathetic? Moi?..
This post was brought to you with the sound of La Ritournelle - Sebastien Tellier