Why is it that every time I go out, no matter how many times I have fed Piglet (and no matter how many times he has tried to escape from the Hide-the-Boob Tent), and even if I have fed him immediately before leaving wherever I am, by the time he gets on the train home he is hungry again and screaming blue murder as if to alert every passer by within a fifty mile radius that I am a useless and neglectful mother who doesn’t feed her baby and who will doubtless end up with a child with a shrunken brain from all the cortisol released during the frantic screaming.
And why is it that as I run from station to home with the pram, reassuring Piglet repeatedly that we are almost home as he shrieks inconsolably, and pointing out every local landmark that he won’t recognise to support my point, that EVERY ONE of those passers by feels the need to give me the Look of Death which communicates in no uncertain terms that not only do they-Mr and Mrs Judgey McJudge, the Great British Public-wholeheartedly agree with the sentiment outlined above, but they are also on the verge of calling social services.
And why is it that every time I pass another baby, they are sitting there serenely in their mother’s arms, cooing and gurgling into their swaddling bands whilst looking up at their parents with a look of blissful adoration as if they have never shed a tear in their young life. WHY, WHY, WHY?
And lastly, why are all these people always full of useless suggestions to stop the crying, such as (I kid thee not) blowing on the baby’s face?
BECAUSE THAT’S GOING TO WORK
Surely the one time in the history of the world that this worked was when the reason for the crying was a hair or bit of dust or fluff happened to have fallen on the baby’s face and was really annoying it until a knowledgeable stranger walked by and blew the offending article away.
It has been mooted (on the Internets, obvs.) that one possible reason for a baby’s crying is that a hair has become tightly wound around the baby’s finger, toe or (eek!) penis, annoying said baby and potentially cutting off the circulation to the area. I now live in fear of this happening (particularly the penis situation, especially since today I found one of my own ludicrously long hairs lurking in Piglet’s nappy). However, so far every time Piglet has started to cry on the train, the only thing that can satisfy him is the boob. And it’s hardly practical to whip one out whilst walking down the street, however successful a multi-tasker I consider myself to be.
Yet why have I never seen anyone else in this predicament?