My son’s a toddler who can’t toddle with a growing aptitude for rudeness – to all the wrong people
Whatever I think about my son’s variable affections for me, it makes me feel better that he can at least be demonstrably rude to other people, too. This reflection has been prompted by his reactions to being handed around. Like all parents, we began being quite careful about who we handed him to, but now we do it just for somewhere to put him. Were it socially acceptable, we’d probably rest him on the bonnet of an idling taxi if it gave us a second to grab our wallets. But, although he spent the first nine months of his life unmoved by anything less eventful than a building collapse, he’s now more discerning about who holds him, not to mention heavier, squirmier and more of a handful in every sense.
‘Oh, right, wow,’ people say as they hold him, wincing as if we’ve handed them a lorry engine. ‘Unnngh. Yep. He’s, er, really grown.’ It’s not that he’s particularly big for a toddler, of course, it’s just that since he’s not walking yet and has very fair hair, he’s something of an optical illusion; a child who bears the essence of being a baby, but without their pleasingly compact size. We try to think of it as an upgrade on the usual baby package, a little bit of extra baby for our money, the maxi-baby plan, perhaps, or Baby+. Having a toddler who can’t, well, toddle, is not without its challenges. I worry that our friends have started to dread visiting us, the way I would if every time I went round to their house I was expected to lift Gregg Wallace out of a high chair.
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