Go Get-a Milk

One of Fiona’s favourite Christmas presents this year was a pushchair, from Grandma and Granda Sutherland. Ever since she got it, she’s been putting her new teddy bear or her latest doll (“Baby”, the third of that name in our house) into the seat and bustling it around the living room. “I’m going home,” she’ll inform us, “Bye! Have a good day!” Then she’ll walk it to the entry hall door, open it, and vanish from sight.

Moments later, she’s back, grinning hugely. “Hiya!” Bustle, bustle, then “I go get-a milk! I go to the shop! Bye! See you later!” And out again. She can do this for half an hour at a time, easy.

So yesterday, since we actually did need milk, I decided to walk out to the corner shop with her, Baby and the pushchair. (Martin and Alex were at the cinema, and I needed to tire her out before her nap. I also had to get outside and get some light after Saturday’s catastrophic mood crash.) When she realised we really were going to go out and get milk with the pushchair, she practically floated off of the floor.

We set out, and she was all over the pavement in her delight.


Taken 8 January 2006


Taken 8 January 2006

It took us half an hour to get to the foot of the road (a sixfold increase on my average time when heading for the bus). It was worth every minute in the cold air. We paused to take some more pictures, including a rather nice portrait of Baby.


Taken 8 January 2006


Taken 8 January 2006

By the time we were in sight of the crossroads, Fi was getting tired (it’s a long slope for short legs). So she tried carrying Baby on her shoulders, which didn’t really work. (Baby is falling in this picture).


Taken 8 January 2006

Eventually, as I expected, Baby and the folded pushchair ended up in my rucksack while Fionaberry sat on my shoulders and got dirt on my jacket with her little feet. The trip home, across the field and over the fence, was faster and muddier, but less memorable, than the trip to the shop.