A New Frond on the Family Palm Tree

There's to be a new member of the family.

No, don't worry.  Henry's not been up to that particular challenge since a particularly unpleasant round of polo shortly after dear Sylvie was born.  Polo sticks went places and everyone gave as good as they got.

There may or may not have been yaks involved.

 

No, indeed.  The Other One in the rock scene in California has announced her intentions of becoming a parent.

This leaves one with a rather tricky conundrum.  Just what does one buy for a brand-new person with whom one has had no opportunity whatsoever of getting acquainted?  And what about a gift for the exhausted new parents?

I know it's a long way off at the moment, but I can't contribute much worthy advice to the mother-to-be.  Things have changed so much since I had my three.  You're not allowed to drink any more for one.  Even brie is out of the question.  How pregnant women cope these days without the necessities of life is beyond me.  I used to drink a hot toddy laced with honey whenever the baby kicked me in the kidneys.

Henry suggests getting The Other One a husband, but I rather think that's not moderne enough for her.  Hence California, I suppose.

I see many people buying practical gifts, which is more my style.  Why buy them something the baby will grow out off in a day?  Especially when there never seem to be any clean burping cloths or clean nappies about when you need them.  Of course, now you get disposable nappies.  All seems a bit wasteful to me, and prevents me from passing down the terry-cloth ones I kept after all three children were finally getting the hang of the north tower garderobe.  They are particularly good at cleaning up grease and oil when I've been tinkering with the tractor (the cloth nappies, not my children).

So, I thought I would buy her nappies.  But then, surely this would take away the fun of finding out which nappies leak: an important milestone for any up-and-coming new family with more tapestry-upholstered seventeenth-century furniture than anyone in 'Miracle Mile 90036' ought logically to have.

And baby clothes?  What would they be like?  It's 44 degrees in the shade seven months of the year.  I dread to think how The Other One plans to dress her bairn, really I do.  Probably in Rolling Stone and/or Rolling Stones t-shirts.

Nay; I'm at a loss.

Perhaps I'll just buy her a large economy-sized bottle of Mrs Winslow's Soothing Syrup instead.

Though of course, I might not get around to actually sending it to her.

The taste for it rather sticks with you.  For life.