PEOPLE often asked me how I coped with a small child in the bush. Well, the answer is – it’s easy.
My idea of a nightmare was a trip to the city with a small child. There you have no game-spotting to take her mind off travel-sickness, no bucket of water on the roof rack, conveniently bouncing the nappies to cleanliness as you drive, but a plethora of toy shops, which can render a parent penniless in a matter of minutes.
I remember one particularly ghastly trip which I made with Karen when she was about 18 months old.
“Ayane” she shouted, as I tried to force her into plastic pants in case of accidents on the journey. “Want go ayane.” She had been told for the previous four days that we were going on the company’s aeroplane, and was now so excited that she had forgotten how to pronounce the word.
“Ayane,” she shouted, as she was lugged aboard the aircraft, clean forgetting to say, “Bye bye, Daddy.”
Then she changed her tune.
“Nose,” she said, pointing vaguely to the front end. I wasn’t sure if she was telling me that the plane had a nose, or was being personal about the pilot.
To make matters clear, she looked all round and said “nose” 10 times.
Satisfied that the aircraft, both pilots and all the passengers had remembered to bring their noses with them, she settled down to the task of trying to dismantle the seat belt.
At Jan Smuts Airport, the problems of having two forms to complete and the fact that the borrowed collapsible pushchair decided to collapse, left us far behind the rest of the party. I eventually discovered where to kick the pushchair and it became quite docile.
Karen’s conversation was becoming rather monotonous. It seemed that aeroplanes and noses were the only familiar sights.
HAVE YOUR SAY
Like our Facebook page, follow us on Twitter and Instagram
For news straight to your phone, add us on BBM 58F3D7A7 or WhatsApp 082 421 6033
