The house is full of winter hats, hand-knitted bobble hats, fleecy cover-up-the-ears hats, fur-lined Russian hats, fur-trimmed Mama hats. And these cold mornings we do the Carmine hat dance. It goes like this :
Hat on, coat on. Little hand goes up, "Da!", hat on the floor in one swift and seamless gesture of joie-de-vivre (or defiance, depending on how late Mama is). Hat back on, baby heaved into back-carrier. Hat off. Hat extracted from top of artful (but long-dead) flower arrangement, hat back on. Back-carrier heaved onto Mama's back and we head for the door. Through the door, door locked, so far so good.
"Da!" Hat off.
Pick up hat. Oh. Can't reach baby in back-carrier. Back-carrier off. Hat on. Back-carrier heaved on. Off we go, listening out for the giveaway "Da!" the whole journey down the hill.
Reaching the bottom, back-carrier heaved off Mama's back. Little nose red with cold. Little ears red with cold. Damn!
That's another cute hat by those denizens of baby-mode, NEXT, lost to the woods.
I read the other day, on the 50th anniversary of Sputnik, that technology has become so cheap that it would be possible to build your own working satellite out of bits foraged from electronic gadgets around the house - communication system from the baby monitor, energy from the computer battery, that kind of thing.
Now I understand that NEXT need to maximise profits and that in order to stay in business they may be forced to economise on such expensive extras as a piece of ribbon to tie a hat onto a baby's head, or, indeed a humble press-stud, function ditto. But surely they could run to a homing device so that at least when my baby hurls her be-pom-pommed baby-pink fleece number with appliqued flowers into outer space, I stand a chance of finding it.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
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