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Archive for the ‘european experiences’ Category

3361.38 miles or 5409.47 kilometers – that’s exactly the distance between my two Grandmothers. In addition one lives 4254.82 miles (6847.29km) away from me and the other one ‘only’ 1009.39 miles (1624.41km) away. And thank goodness for that! OK, sometimes it would be cool to have them closer. I love seeing them and getting my cuddles allowance increased. I also think Mummy and Daddy might be a bit more chilled if they had grandparents handy to leave me with once in a while so they could go out and enjoy the odd glass of gin ond tonic, which could in theory increase my cuddles allowance further .

But, if it wasn’t for that distance I would seriously worry about my sanity. After all how can you grow up in a world with two people treating you completely differently? If one Grandmother brings blankets to keep me warm, tucks me in every two minutes and pulls my hat down to cover my ears, the other one will worry about me getting overheated, swaddled and would happily keep me outside at all times.  If one thinks that licking the wheels of my buggy (OK, that, I have only attempted once so far) is good for my immune system, the other one will do everything to ensure there’s no spec of dust in about 50meter radius around me. I know, I know, let’s be different and let’s love one other, but I’m glad I only have to do it a few times a year.

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Do Anglo-Saxon babies develop at a faster rate than other babies? My guess is they do. It’s not that I want to say I’m developing faster than other babies, I can’t even say I’m an Anglo-Saxon baby. But how else do you explain the fact that a Maclaren buggy, a Maclaren Triumph Scarlet to be precise (though I believe other colours are the same), can be used by three-month old babies in the UK and USA but you have to wait until you are six months if you live on the continent. It’s not a joke – check out the insruction manual. I’ve discovered you don’t really have to speak all the languages, it’s enough you know how to read numbers and you’ll get that part of the manual.

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Mummy was proud as a peacock when she first took me out for a drive three weeks after I first made an appearance. Three weeks to the day – my first drive with Mummy. But she wasn’t proud of me, she was proud of herself. When some women still use doughnuts, hoops, soft pillows and other such contraptions to sit on, and hardly dare to take their newborn beyond the garden gate, she took me for a drive. Unscathed by the fuss involved in installing the car seat and its contents in the car or the bulkiness of the travel system, she put on her sunglasses and off we went.  I didn’t mind the trip at all, the rocking of the car was quite pleasant if I’m being honest and I soon nodded off in my brown Maxi Cosy Cabrio Fix. But going back home, well that was something… Our city offers about the worst combination of parking spaces that are (too)vnarrow and drivers that can’t park (except for my mother that is…). So as we got back to the car park we found our Mazda3 wedged between two SUVs taking up the valuable space of our parking bay. Mummy could hardly get into the car herself, squeezing her postnatal body between the vehicles, let alone a car seat. And yes, I really thought that was it. Gee! It scared the p** out of me (literally) when she plonked me on the pavement, got in the car and started the engine. Luckily she stopped when she reversed into the street and was able to open the door wide enough to fit in the car seat.

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