Tonight we took our child to MAAD, a monthly art fair at the Red Dot Building, where hipsters sell each other bags with owls stenciled on them, reprints of advertising posters, and other things I don’t understand. Obviously it’s important to expose our child to these sorts of this from an early age.
Also, one of our friends was selling jewelry so we wanted to go along to support her. She wasn’t selling repurposedStar Wars lunchboxes or shoes whittle by hand out of hemp, which marked her out as a little exceptional, but she was making sales, which suggests I’m being unkind about the demographic slice attending MAAD.
It was loud inside so I took baby for a stroll down the street to sooth her, although I must have looked like Awful Hipster Dad Extarordinaire; unsuitable beard for the tropics, retro t-shirt, black socks with shorts, and a stroller in one hand, a bottle of beer in the other. At least I wasn’t making our baby mind a kebab for me, or smoking clove cigarettes. That will have to wait until I eat meat. And smoke clove cigarettes.
Child was alternately placid, then upset, then calm again. It’s as if she has very little emotional inertia; it doesn’t take much, like, say, removal from the breast, before she starts to get upset, but then a few minutes being wheeled up and down tend to calm her back down again. For now. Perhaps I’ll read this in a few months time and wonder at my utter naiveté, like any good first time parent. What was it Philip Larkin said about parents – “they raise you up”, right? Right?
We went home, watched the final four episodes of The Shield, and I ate all the ice cream and chocolate I could find, which means the house is now emptied of both mental and physical junk food. So from tomorrow I’ll be healthy in mind and body. It’s not like I could just buy some more junk, is it?
Oh. Oh dear. I clearly hadn’t thought this one through.