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You love not reading the news anymore. Because you can’t. Not properly anyway. Not in that broadsheet extended double page in-depth analysis with charts and extra voxpops way, anyway. Alright, you might scan the voxpops. But I mean, who really has the time for reading even one page of a broadsheet in full? Either somebody has a little too much time on their hands. Or they haven’t got kids.

Instead you find Metro‘s abbreviated semi-news heavy duty enough. Yes, that’s right, Metro, which you used to deride for its patronising drivel. You lap up ‘how to’ inserts. You even find yourself drawn towards all those flimsy shiny women’s mags you used to balk at. So trivial. So fluffy. So degrading to your intellect. But so easy to pick up and read between your little dearest squawking something about MUUUUUUUUUM WHERE’S THE ROUNDANDROUNDTHING MUUUUUUUMMMMM I’M TALKING MUUUUUUUUUM and CAN I WATCH TEEEEEEEVEEEEEEEEEEE and OOOWOOOWOOOOOOOOOW MUUUUUUUUUUM I GOT AN OWOOOOOW MUUUUUUM I NEED A PLASTER MUUUUUUUUUUM. The ultimate multitask read, you suddenly understand why the articles in these publications are so short and petty and frothy. And why they’re aimed at women with kids.

To be brutally honest, it’s a bit of a relief. Does anybody really like reading newspapers or is it just something you end up doing as you try your best to become a real adult, you know, as your ‘duty’, like writing thank you cards and putting the bins out. New mummies have the perfect excuse to avoid all that intellectual posturing. Of course there’s a place for proper news and intelligent reading. But knowing all the world’s bad news makes no difference to our daily lives, beyond injecting the reader with a sense of shame (to be part of the human race) and, well, hopeless despair. However, knowing that Kate Moss also has a jelly belly* can, sometimes, put the whole world to rights.

*uncorroborated at the time of writing

In the old days you shopped at a variety of stores. Some of them sold cool, funky things and some of them played pumping house music in the background while you were in the changing rooms.

But now, much like your parents before you, you only ever shop in John Lewis. It may not be cool. The soft furnishing section may, frankly, look like a room-set from your Great Aunt Gladys’ house.

But John Lewis is safe. It looks after its staff which makes you feel better about shopping there. It has never knowingly undersold. It has a bra-fitting service. And it sells pretty much everything a growing family could need, from baby bouncers to fridge-freezers.

And crucially – and this is the bit that really counts – it has good changing rooms. You can breastfeed in them, you can change your baby’s nappy, hell you can have a full-on, 20 decibel argument with your partner about which baby bouncer to buy within listening range of at least 10 other mothers. Frankly there is really no need to shop anywhere else ever again, so why bother?

You spent three months debating the relative merits of Maxi Cosi lock-in systems, giant three-wheelers and featherlight, aeronautically engineered Maclarens.

In the same way men fetishise cars and motorbikes, you can tell a Bugaboo from a Quinny at 100 paces. And yet whichever buggy you decided to buy, and however painful the impact on your bank balance, you will wish you’d bought a different one. The other mummies’ models will be chicer, narrower, easier to steer, lighter, better off road, have more storage space underneath, be easier to fold into the boot of your car.

If yours faces outwards, you will worry that you are permanently damaging your child by making them look out at an unloving, uncaring world and ruining your bonding experience.

If yours faces inwards, you will worry you are permanently damaging your child by making them look at your sleep-starved, angry and tear-streaked face rather than being stimulated by the outside world.

You will then spend £500 on another buggy, before realising it, and all other buggies, do basically does the same job. Which is gets your baby from A to B.

Because they look cute. Awww.

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This blog is currently dedicated to stuff new mummies like. As opposed to stuff mummies of teenagers like. That's because we don't have teenagers yet. Give us a few years though. We're told it goes pretty quickly...

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