And Baby Makes Two - Dyan Sheldon [46]
I sprayed some Tommy Girl on me and a tiny bit on Shinola. Even if we didn’t look like a trendy mother and daughter we could smell like them.
Shinola didn’t like the perfume.
I hoped she wasn’t going to turn out to be a tomboy. I looked down at her. She didn’t look very feminine. In fact, she looked sort of like a boy. What if she turned out to be a lesbian? I hadn’t thought about that.
I almost forgot about Les and lunch for a couple of minutes while I started worrying about all the things Shinola could turn out to be that I hadn’t thought of. I was starting to realize that having a kid wasn’t like buying a dress. When you bought a dress you knew what you’d bought: a dress. If you got home and realized it wasn’t a dress you would actually want to be seen in, alive or dead, you could take it back. But when you had a baby you didn’t really know what you’d got. Shinola drooled down my sweater. And you couldn’t take it back.
I put on another sweater and some more Tommy Girl. By now I was going to be lucky to get to McDonald’s on time, even if we had a helicopter. I threw a couple of nappies and a bottle into Shinola’s bag, stuck her in her buggy, and raced out of the house.
Catching a bus with a baby is about as much fun as catching a bus with a temperamental ostrich under your arm. I tried to take Shinola out every day if I could, so we were used to buses by now, but this was our first bus trip in the rain. Which meant we had more gear than usual. You never go anywhere with a baby without lugging enough stuff to go camping for a week.
To get on the bus, I had to take Shinola out of her buggy and fold it up. To get her out of her buggy, I had to remove her from the plastic bubble. Then, with one hand, I had to fold up the pushchair. Only it wouldn’t fold flat with the plastic bubble inside, and I couldn’t get it locked in place. Then I had to get Shinola and me and the buggy on to the bus. Nobody offered to help, not even when the damn thing sprang open and nearly pulled us back to the pavement.
It was one of those little single-decker buses, and because it was raining, it was packed. So once you got up the stairs there wasn’t actually anywhere to go.
“Seventy pence,” said the driver.
I didn’t have my money ready, and I couldn’t get it out because I only had two hands, and one of them was trying to hold the buggy shut and the other was trying to hold Shinola.
“Could you wait till I put the pushchair away?”
“Seventy pence,” said the driver.
As per usual, Shinola started to cry. I could feel everybody capable of even the slightest movement turn to look at us.
“For God’s sake,” I hissed at her. “Not now!”
But would she listen? Sometimes I worried that she was going to be like her grandmother.
By sort of wedging the buggy between me and the driver, I managed to fish the change from my pocket.
“Move back!” shouted the driver. “Everybody move back!”
I stuck the ticket between my teeth and tried to move back.
It was like trying to get a motorbike through a tin of sardines.
The luggage rack was full.
“Move back! Move back!”
As though she was joining in with the driver, Shinola was wailing, “Wahwah… Wahwah…”
I forced my way towards the back, saying “Excuse me,” and “Pardon me,” every time I whacked somebody with the buggy.
An old lady finally gave me her seat.
“Sounds like he might have a touch of the colic,” she said as we exchanged places.
“She,” I corrected. “But I don’t think it’s colic.”
I had no idea what colic was. It’s one of those words that everybody uses but no one ever tells you what it means. Plus, I really didn’t think it was anything like that. I was beginning to think she did it on purpose.
The old lady beamed down on us. “Isn’t he sweet? I remember when mine were that age.” She beamed again. “Enjoy it while it lasts,” she told me. “The time goes very quickly.