When I returned home last year, there was one major difference. One major thing I added to the mix. I had increased the national population by one. The boy. My boy. My soon-to-be four-year-old was unleashed on the island. I remember the day I found out I was pregnant. The first thing I wanted to do was come home. I'm glad I stayed and had him in London. The Chelsea and Westminster hospital was amazing and true to the Eng Leang get-up-and-go attitude, he graced us with his presence with a less than two hours of pushing, all natural delivery. That was the easy part. Carrying the boy around London wasn't always easy but always eventful. When we purchased our first buggy or as we say here-pram, we opted for a mid-cost model. It came with the baby cot which we disposed of as the boy grew. The main priority was keeping the boy warm. Seeing that he was born in September, his first months on the planet were chilly to say the least. Three to four layers of clothing for the least plus a blanket to wrap up.
I remember buying him his first coat. Seemed such a foreign item of clothing for a baby. I wanted to just leave him in he pampers and ah vest. You know the vests. White, sleeveless with a coloured blanket-stitch on the edges. I couldn't even find vests in London for babies. Not that he would have worn it in winter but just fuh so nah.After a year or so, boy's first buggy had a wheel malfunction and we upgraded. We went from Honda to Ferrari. I loved my Bugaboo buggy and for those who know what I'm talking about, know why. I bought the Denim 007 version for just under £700. My favourite feature was its cup holder or for me, the vanilla latte holder! He could be front-facing, facing the buggy-pusher, reclined in three positions including completely flat. The front wheels could even come off to convert the buggy into hiking or ski mode. Ski mode? I remember watching the dvd (yes the buggy came with a dvd) as the model, in three quick movements, converted the buggy into a two-wheeler ready for the slopes. The slopes? So I must put my chile in a buggy and go on a big mountain with lots of snow and ski? Dey funny eh?
Outings were always prefaced with packing. Had to make sure I had everything, in case of anything. Winter time, I had to stuff the boy in a massive coat and sometimes a scarf. Coffee shops and restaurants were all equipped with bottle warmers as when out, the milk got cold, cold, cold.
Always checked his nose to make sure he wasn't too frozen. He seemed to like it though. But hated being covered up. Even at night time, when I wanted to bury myself deep in the duvet, mankind wants to sleep with no covers. "He feel he in Trini?" I used to say. In the few summer days that we were treated to, I loved seeing him in his shorts and a polo shirt with his bare feet dangling from the buggy. Of course I was not the only mother pushing they child around in a buggy on the busy streets of London. There should be traffic laws for all types of vehicles including buggies. No such luck. The amount of stupid people I encountered on the streets, on buses and on trains as I pushed the boy around. I wish the buggy had a horn. But my cussing worked just fine. Give meh ah little right-a-way nah. I remember running for the bus with the buggy and as ah reach de stop, he drive off, pretending not to see me. Steups. Biggest wing mirrors on de road and you eh see me? Yeah right. Now that I am home and the boy and I drive around in Hugo (the van) all the time, it brings another dimension to travelling with child. He is at that age now where he can wriggle out of the seatbelt that holds his booster seat (and him) in place.
So mankind all over the backseat. So that means that I have to drive with extreme caution. And hear nah. Tricks! He starts off seated and well-behaved and it's only when I start to move, he plots his escape. Now of course, Trini drivers have no patience, so when I am driving cautiously around the Savannah is only horn ah getting! Sometimes I even put on de hazard lights. I eh able. Instead of having everything in the buggy, it's now in the van. His shoes, clothes, toys, snacks from yesterday (ok last week) and all kind ah thing. And hear nah, he knows it's his chariot eh! Not ah buggy in sight. I must say I prefer it this way, being a mama on wheels rather than on foot. The boy enjoys it too. A little too much sometimes. So if yuh see meh driving slow, slow, slow-just look on the back dash and you'll probably see the boy lying down there grinning.
