Dinky Parasol

I have bought Harry a new lightweight pushchair today, in place of the behemoth John picked out when I was 32 weeks pregnant.

 

It was the one baby-purchase that I forced myself to delegate and include him over; I nearly regretted it when the girls in Mothercare were all peering nervously around the display stands whilst he advanced down the rows of Bugaboos, Quinnys, Phil & Teds, Gracos, Maclarens, Chiccos and Brittaxes, testing them all to near-destruction. He sneered at the flimsy builds; apparently none of them were up to farm specification. Quel surprise. He eventually picked the heaviest, so I am further destroying my beleaguered back (if you’re lucky I may tell you one day all about the epidural that went horribly Pete Tong) lifting this mastodonic contraption into my boot several times a day. Plus the rotten bastard thing took the skin off my thumb when I forced it into submission yesterday. So, I popped out and came back with a 6kg featherweight. Hairy hubby took one aghast look and reminded me vehemently that we have a boy baby. Furthermore, he himself will not be seen dead with ‘The Camp Mobile’, apparently.

I think it’s rather nifty, n’est-ce pas?

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2 Responses

  1. Thought I would pop over and have a read. I have to say I cant see any man pushing this pram. lol and the thought of a farmer pushing it around the cows made me giggle. Now you need to get a photo of dh pushing it. Please, just for me! lol

    Hugs
    xxx

  2. […] submitted listlessly to being pushed around the village in Behemoth, but bestowed beaming smiles on no-one. Some of his stern glares, in which he can specialise […]

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