All the new friends

For those of you who have been to London, you'll be familiar with the ability of Londoners to stand two inches away from you on the tube and obliviously read their paper. And you'll know what I'm talking about when I say that nobody ever talks to you or makes eye contact. Well, let me just say that isn't the case once you've had a baby.

When I was pregnant, people would quite often smile at me. Now, random strangers have entire conversations with me. Sometimes, it's because they want to give me unsolicited advice. For example, 'are you sure your baby can breathe in that baby sling?', from one lady recently on the train to Croyden (another story in itself as to what I was doing in Croyden). Mostly though, people ask about Bundle of Joy. 'How old is she?', and 'Oh, she's so cute!'. Those people are quite nice actually. After all, what mother would turn down random compliments from strangers about their baby? Though I do have to stop myself from sharing her daily bowel movements with them.

It's the random touchings that I draw the line at. People toften touch her feet or her head or her cheek. When they're not looking, I surreptitiously wipe their fingermarks off. Sounds a little over-protective, but who knows where those fingers have been or what is growing on the tube these days? And she's not quite sticking things in her mouth yet. I do think that a few germs are good. But London tube germs are in a category of their own and I'm not sure she's quite ready for those yet.

Question: By what port did the applicant arrive? Anwer: Birth canal

Isabel, 14 weeks old

Yes. That really was one of the questions on the visa application that I recently submitted for Bundle of Joy. However, I didn't really answer it with 'birth canal'. The UK Border agency probably wouldn't see the funny side. I've noticed that immigration officials don't have much of a sense of humour.

You might be wondering why she needs a visa? Well, it's no longer possible to arrive in London, pop out a child, and for the child to have a british passport. So, if we travel outside of Britain, they can refuse to let her back in. 

Unfortunately, there was no getting around the fact that I had to fill out that form - even though it was clearly not designed with newborn babies in mind. 'No', she has not committed any acts of genocide. 'No', she has not held any terrorist views. 'No', I do not know of any reason why she might not be considered of good character. Unless putting your feet in your dirty nappy and waving them around in the air counts?! 'Please refer to date of birth'. She is only 3 months old ....

Who's in charge? I don't think it's me

Now, last installment, I might have mentioned being in charge of a newborn baby. I'd like to retract that last statement, because I think it is definitely Isabel that appears to be in charge. How someone that is only 62 cm (and I do know her height because I had to put her height on her passport application) has assumed total authority over our household is slightly baffling. One small wail and I jump to feed her, or change her, or dangle a blue thing instead of a red thing in front of her in order to amuse her. I shouldn't be totally surprised by this. Apparently, I do have some chemicals now racing around my body which make me respond directly to her cries. It's Nature's way of ensuring we looked after our wee Bundles of Joy back in the pre-historic age and didn't eat them. Still, I do sometimes wonder how such a wee package has totally turned our lives upside down. This is upside down in a good way, of course. And I would never consider eating her. Except maybe for last Friday when she would not go to bed ......

Disclaimer: This is, of course, a joke. I would never eat my baby. Do not call social services.