It is becoming clearer every week that passes that in taking over the care of Little G from You must be mad, I am morphing slowly but inexorably into Wonder Woman. To give you just one example: I spend a lot of time wondering where all the dropped kerbs are.
If you have ever tried pushing a top of the range purple Stokke buggy with wheels that do non-cooperation to industrial strength and can suddenly tip sideways without warning, you will know the trauma of trying to cross roads that do not have dropped kerbs.
Sometimes Little G and I have to walk in completely the opposite direction to where we want to go, just to find a dropped kerb so we can cross the road
Then, I wonder why most shops site their kids department on the first floor, which means locating a lift and engineering the reluctant buggy into it. That's when the lift arrives and isn't out of order. And allowing for there being no more than one other buggy also waiting, because I am to manoeuvering what bricks are to para-gliding.
Also, I wonder why there are so few mother and baby rooms available
Little G and I frequently have to dive into a disabled loo when a quick nappy change is required, only to emerge to face the indignant stare of some poor soul on crutches or in a wheelchair who has been waiting cross-legged for us to finish.
And all this wondering comes on top of the inordinate amount of time spent wondering where my phone, lip crayon, wallet and You must be mad's house keys are, because I have failed to notice that Little G has done her Raider of the Lost Bag act and hidden them somewhere.
See what I mean? Not so much Amazon Warrior Princess as Amazed & Worried Pensioner
To be continued ... ..