Children should not be seen or heard...?!

IT'S not often I get incensed by other people's opinions. Having worked as a journalist for a number of years I know that for every person with one opinion there are several other people who think the exact opposite and there are a whole breed of other people who spout controversial opinions simply to get a rise out of others.

But in spite of this knowledge, I couldn't stop my blood from boiling at the views of a lady on breakfast television recently.

The subject under discussion was whether parents should pay for their babies to attend the Olympics to be held in London this summer.

But it was not this particular aspect of the discussion which bothered me. As far as I'm concerned this question is ridiculous and isn't even worthy of a discussion. Of course people should not have to pay for a baby of just a few months to attend the Games when they will be in the arms of their mother or father the whole time and completely oblivious to their surroundings.

In fact the discussion on television barely targeted this particular question, which I believe was indicative of what a ludicrous question it was.

No, this lady who so riled me used her time on TV to sound off about how awful she would find it to be sat next to a newborn baby at the Olympic Games. You would have thought she was talking about a murderer or a rapist judging by the venom with which she spoke. The very manner in which she described the situation - how the baby would be continually 'squawking' and looking for attention from its parents and, god forbid, needing to be fed constantly - was unbelievable to my ears as a parent of a baby myself.

I think this is indicative of society's perception of babies out in public as a whole. People are so quick to frown when they hear a baby cry and too often in conversation talk of how people with young children should be banned from here and segregated off from others there.

Attitudes are different in different countries but here in Britain parents of young children are made to feel they shouldn't enter out into public with their youngsters for fear of other people's reactions should their child cry or misbehave or need feeding.

This woman, who was herself of child-bearing age, which for me made her opinions even more difficult to swallow, so devoid she seemed to be of any maternal feeling, was encapsulating this whole attitude which makes getting out and about with children even more difficult than it is anyway.

Shouldn't we as a society be far more accepting of people of all ages and not run scared when we hear a baby start to whimper? OK, so it's not ideal to be out to lunch, for example, and for a baby to start crying but it's also not the end of the world. That was all of us once and so many of these frowning people have either had children themselves or will go on to have them.

Shouldn't we therefore be far more tolerant of others as we would like to be tolerated ourselves? I do know for sure that it should be people like that lady on television who should be treated with contempt not helpless young children who are simply doing what nature tells them to.

My daughter – the animal-lover

MY ten-month-old daughter loves animals.

I want to officially record this statement so if she grows up to become a vet, or a zoo keeper or a farmer – or even a farmer's wife – we can all look back and I can say to her the first signs of her life's destiny were already there at a very young age.

Now this isn't imagined on my part. Every time she sees an animal either in real life or on the television she literally takes a sharp intake of breath before taking up her very special string of babble designed for communing with the animals.

This definitely is happening. I would only be cheating myself if I was making this up to make her seem even cleverer than she is.

Before she has even hit toddler-hood she is making one of her preferences in life very clear.

I first became aware she was an animal-lover when she first met granny and grandad's cat. As soon as she saw him she reached out to grab his face and pull at his fur. Even when she was taken some distance away to prevent her pulling out his whiskers, her arms were still outstretched, her bottom lip quivering in disappointment.

And my parent's cat isn't the only animal she has fallen in love with. There is the kitten from over the road who always comes to greet us when we arrive home from a trip out, invariably sneaking through my legs and into the house, much to my daughter's delight.

I don't have to look to know the kitten is on its way over the road to see us as I put the key into the door.

My daughter will start up a babbling reserved strictly for the kitten and she will be straining around in my arms trying to get a better look at it as it winds around my legs and purrs.

Then there is the little white dog next door. From her vantage point in her high chair by the patio doors she can see this little dog when it comes to the fence at the bottom of next door's garden.

For this dog she reserves a string of little squeaks of excitement and if you're trying to feed her her breakfast at this point, good luck with that because no amount of cereal and banana is going to take her attention away from that little dog while it is there in her line of vision.

Her favourite pastime has become going down to the river to watch the ducks. She will sit in her pushchair all wrapped up against the elements, happily chatting away to the birds as they swim by for as long as we will let her. Just wait until we take her on her first trip to a nature reserve – she will burst with excitement.

So to my daughter, I'll dig this piece of writing out in 20 years time when you are off to university to study to become a vet or you start work at the local zoo or you marry your farmer husband and prove the signs were there, from the very beginning.

Shopping – A military operation

WE had a lovely day out shopping – my daughter, my husband and me.

And I couldn't help reflecting on the contrast between this shopping trip and those we risked soon after my daughter was born.

We arrived at our shopping destination just in time for lunch. My daughter has eaten out a few times before with us and she has never failed to disappoint. This was no exception. She sat there at the table in a high-chair happy as can be tucking into her minted pea and lamb purée, followed by banana custard. She even tried some of mummy's mashed potato.

She loved looking around at all the faces at the other tables and did not cry or grumble once.

The hearts' of the staff at these restaurants must sink when they see a pushchair entering their establishment. They must think 'Oh no here comes trouble' but my daughter hasn't caused any disruption – yet.

After a successful lunch we hit the shops and had a good browse around clothes and household items, actually taking our time, not frantically rushing around with a look of blind panic in our eyes.

Such a stark contrast to when we first hit the shops after my daughter was born. Every trip had to be 'between feeds', not that I knew when my daughter's next feed would be. She didn't have a routine at that age. She was fed on demand. The problem was we didn't know exactly when she was going to demand food next and that was why it was so difficult getting out and about.

There were no more lazy afternoons browsing the shops taking ages picking over a rail of clothes. It became a military operation. Target what you need, swoop on it and pick it up, pay for it and get out, out, out before the baby cries.

Supermarket shopping was the worst. In we would go hearts pumping, my daughter strapped to my front in her carrier, my husband pushing the trolley. Normally she'd fall asleep after the first few aisles but that was the easy part. The tricky bit was keeping her asleep.

I remember when she used to stir and I'd feel that first rush of panic. 'She's waking', I'd hiss to my husband. 'Yep, she's definitely waking. OK she's awake. She's about to cry. OK, I'm going to walk around the store'.

Off I'd march, storming down the aisles. Can't stop, can't stop. Got to keep this baby from crying. No good. Back to my husband. 'I'm going outside, yes, you pay. I'll be outside'.

Five minutes later. 'Right, give me the car keys. Yes the keys. I'm taking her to the car, yes, right now'. And that was a normal trip to the supermarket. We ended up getting our shopping delivered for a while.

My daughter sits in the trolley now and loves going around the supermarket looking at all the brightly coloured packaging and all the new people. What a difference a few months makes. Bring on more wonderful shopping days. Until the toddler tantrums begin.

Me and my daughter are the raspberry conspirators

I HAVE been a mum for ten months now and as in any job you undertake in life, by this point you start feeling quite competent in your role. By no means are you a seasoned pro, you very quickly realise on looking around at the people who have been doing the job for years, but, at the same time, you feel you have just enough experience under your belt to tackle what is thrown at you. That doesn't mean you are immune to the occasional surprise now and then of course.

I'm not talking about one of those heart-stopping, stomach-churning moments we all experience from time to time as parents and all too frequently in the very early days of parenthood.

I'm talking about one of those moments when you stand back and take stock and say to yourself 'Oh it's like that then is it'.

I'm talking about when I blew a raspberry at my daughter in public.

Now this has become normal behaviour in our household. In fact as mum I've become all round entertainer. I am circus clown, singer, dancer, actor and I've never had such a captive audience. We'll wave our arms around and stamp our feet, babble ma ma, ba ba, ga ga at the tops of our voices and giggle with glee.

And this behaviour has seeped out onto the street. I'll think nothing, now, of sticking my head around her pushchair and pulling a funny face or, as in this case, blowing a raspberry at her. So it was a real shock on this occasion when a lady walking by literally stopped in her tracks and looked at me, barely hiding her disgust at my behaviour.

A few months ago this would have really embarrassed me. I would have felt well and truly caught out. My crime – entertaining my daughter out in the street. But now I'm happy to hold my hands up and declare 'Guilty, your honour'. And my daughter is my all-to-willing accomplice.

I look from the stern, disparaging face looking down at me and back into the pushchair at the little face looking up at me and beaming from ear to ear and I think – me and my daughters are the raspberry conspirators.

In the absence of a mutual exchange of 'I love yous' this is our very own special language of affection. And I'm just going to keep on blowing raspberries at my daughter until I hear those inevitable words, a few years down the line, 'Mum, you're so embarrassing'.