Wednesday, 12 September 2012

Westfield ruined my baby.

I have been walking for days. It's like torture. Pushing a pram, and walking. Non-stop. I have been everywhere there is to go in the East. My legs ache, my back aches, I feel (and look) like a zombie but still the baby is not happy. And neither am I. One would think with all the excercise I've been having I'd be a losing a few pounds but that's not the case. I'm actually getting fatter as I'm having to eat out all the time. It's the only time I can sit down to eat or drink anything. Its a pretty hard time at the moment. Being forced to walk around Hackney, putting on weight and spending a small fortune on hot chocolates. Boo. I really don't know what's going on but my lovely calm, contented baby has become seriously discontented in the last week or so. Is it the weather? Is it the dreaded teeth? Is it a spurt? Is it a reaction to the jabs? Is he bored of my face looming down at him all the time? Is it just because he is a baby? Or is it a symptom of Westfield? Who knows, but all I do know is that I hope this particular phase passes soon. Everything seems to irritate the baby at present, apart from going out. Hence the walking. It doesn't stop the crying completely but being outside muffles the sound somewhat.

Basically, the baby's mood deteriorated after his first visit to the Westfield shopping centre in Stratford last Friday. I thought it would be a nice treat for him (ie me) so we went on the train, making use of the new lift at Hackney Central. However, it had somehow slipped my mind that the Paralympics were still in full swing which meant that Stratford was extremely busy. The whole world was there. Literally. The sheer volume of people combined with all the bright lights and jazzy window displays not only proved to be the most exciting day of babies life so far but also meant that he was totally overstimultaed by the time we got home. Wide eyed, cranky, he screamed so loudly on Friday evening I thought the neighbours may call the Police. Luckily however, the eggy mood coincided with a plan to go to a friends birthday so as soon as Wig got home from work, I handed over the screaming baton and legged it out the door. It was only when I went to the ladies at the pub at 10pm that night that I realised my right shoulder and right leg were  covered in baby possett (vomit) and my hair resembled a scouring pad. Thanks baby. The only positive from the Westfield excursion was the discovery of the most amazing changing stations I have seen in my travels so far. They call them 'parent rooms' and not only have the most luxurious areas for changing nappies (great height, sinks adjacent, bins underneath, perfect position ie baby's nether regions are face on to you not side on like most changing areas), but they also have sofas for feeding and a kitchen area for heating bottles or food! It was worth giving birth just to have access to this wondrous room.


Then on Sunday, as we didn't learn from my mistake on the Friday, we took baby back to Stratford! I know, stupid. But the thing was, we got last minute tickets to the Olympic Park and I really wanted to take baby. Wig had seen it already as he had been to the Paralympic Athletics but I felt bad living so close to the site and not having been. According to facebook I was the only person in the world that hadn't been. So off we trotted and I regretted the decison almost as soon as we had arrived. Not only was it even busier that the shopping centre (of course, its about a gillion times bigger) it was also extremely hot. Way to hot for a baby. So we only stayed about an hour before lugging him back home again. At least I guess when he's older he can say he was there, even though he will have no memory of it and even if he did his memory will have been of being covered in Factor 50 and kept under  a muslin while hearing me chattering away like Rainman, "Its too hot, we should go, we are being very irresponsible, are his legs ok? do his feet feel clammy?" etc etc repeat to fade.






Olympic Park, VERY impressive.

On Monday the terrible mood of the small boss continued so I took him to the one and only place in Hackney that I've never been. The Hackney Museum. My hopes weren't too high about what this museum would be like but it was somewhere to go and was free. I'm trying to think now what I learnt and I don't think I learnt anything. Maybe I learnt that I wont go again. Sorry Hackney Museum.


Exterior of museum.


Interior of museum.


I agree.

Rather surprisingly the Hackney Museum didn't have a picture of this charming street art which we saw on our way home. 


Like I said, charming.

Yesterday, the walking continued. I was out from 10am until 5pm. The small boss is relentless. I think if this is going to become a regular thing I will have to invest in some sturdy walking shoes. Walking for  7 hours in my 99p Primark Espadrilles is doing nothing for my bunions (thats a joke, I don't really have bunions. Thats about the one gross bodily ailment I don't currently suffer from). We walked around Broadway Market, The Bethnal Green Toy Museum, Sainsburys, Another Sainsburys, The Hackney Picture House, Tesco's, Boots and Marks + Sparks. I'm scared about what today will bring. There really is nowhere else to go.

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