Running wild: My Sonny Jim making the most of the road being closed
FOR a few hours on Saturday afternoon I felt like I’d stepped back in time.
Our road was closed for a royal wedding street party. There was bunting. Chalk drawings on the floor. Kids running wild up and down the avenue. Neighbours sitting on curbs in the sunshine, sipping beers and prosecco.
It was blooming lovely.
I was never allowed to play out as a child. But even if I had been, it wouldn’t have been as charming in the Nineties as it was for my Sonny Jim on Saturday. He literally had the time of his life. He ate his tea in the street, chased his aunties (and his football) up and down the road for hours and by the time bedtime came around, he had two grazed knees, dirt all over his face and was a sweaty, sticky mess of sunshine in toddler form. Continue reading
Little buddies: Sonny Jim (asleep) with four of his five NCT pals (aged about 3-months)
A year ago today I was eight months pregnant and dragging the husband along to the first of four antenatal NCT (National Childbirth Trust) classes.
He was not exactly up for it. For starters, he was missing West Ham play. And he couldn’t understand why we needed to sit in a room with five other couples for SIX HOURS (we did break for lunch in the middle) on a Sunday to talk about how our baby was going to be born. And then go to another three sessions in the weeks that followed.
We’d also had to pay more than £200 for the privilege of the experience. Money which could have been spent on clothes for the baby. Or nappies. Or something else that seemed infinitely more practical than chatting.
Off we went to our NCT Signature Antenatal course (held in a side room at David Lloyd in Southend.) And a year on I can happily say it was one of the best pre-Sonny Jim decisions we made. Continue reading