After a night that could be best described as fitful, but would be better termed as Dante-esque, I rashly decided to take beautiful Miss Maddie for a stroll in the park in our swanky new, Baby Bjorn, 'mini-me' carrier. The sun was shining. The birds were heralding the spring. We needed to stop crying. Off we went.
Other parents nodded approvingly. A jogger stopped to guess Maddie's age. The Saturday morning footballers and chronically bored youth didn't pay much attention. On we trotted... Until a VAST black cloud loaded with the hardest, toughest hailstones the Manchester sky could muster sprinted over the horizon. There was a clap of thunder and there I was, in a downpour, with Maddie in the carrier in her little cotton hat.
Not good. Trainee parent in hailstorm. Baby in carrier, exposed to elements. Panic.
The rest of the journey was made up of a Quasimodo jog that only a man with 8lbs of baby strapped to his chest and a recently broken shoulder could pull off. It was frenzied, and it wasn't pretty.
Of course Maddie was fine as I soggily turned up back at PooNappy HQ.
My penance for the above was a four-nappy changing session. Nappy one was changed without mishap. Nappy two bought it as the press-studs clicked back into place. Nappy three was taken out of play by a 10-inch jet of projectile baby sludge that also hit the dresser, daddy and a small pile of cotton balls. After a major clean-up operation, Nappy four was on safely. Serves me right for the walk in the hail.
An eventful couple of days, this weekend. A block in one of Anne's Nutrition Dispensing Units has been really painful for her, and Maddie has definitely lost the trail of crumbs that usually leads her back to the Land of Nod. Apparently at six weeks it all gets a bit better. We can only wait.