What goes around….

I’m a dad now.

Yep, what was once a gleam in my eye is now a spit-drooling, diaper-soiling, milk-upchucking, sleep-thieving, paediatrician-tormenting ‘bundle-of-joy’. Well, he’s also the cutest little thing I’ve ever clapped these old eyes on and he’s the proud owner of a gummy smile that would melt both polar icecaps simultaneously. That alone more than makes up for the tectonic shifts he’s wrought upon my life. I called on my mom the other day and holding her hand, I led her down memory lane trying get her to recall just what kind of child I made. “Not-so-good”, she replied. Turns out I was the dark side of a pair of twins. Whilst my brother cooed contentedly, gulped down whatever was put in his mouth and went No. 2 on cue, I sulked, spat and constipated my way to an ambulatory childhood.

Some say Karma’s a bitch but boy do I hope her soft side will fall for my dubious charms.

Anyhow, in my new-found zeal as the  paterfamilias, I determined that a means of getting around exclusive to the lad was necessary.  To wit, a stroller was in order and the one below was definitely de rigueur .

Handy things, these Quinny strollers, a good mix of looks, light-weight and stolid durability won me over in no time at all. Can’t say the same for the VIPassenger though, he took to it like a tabby-cat to water. Ultimately, though when he finally correlated the trundling orange-and-gunmetal monster to the great outdoors and an escape from the now-claustrophobic confines of the house where his nanny is constantly hovering, poised to stuff assorted bland foods into his unprepared mouth, he’s now set up camp permanently in the pushchair’s seat.

As potter around the neighbourhood with the little fellow, I can’t help but reflect on the symbolism of how life always seems to come full circle every time just like the slowly revolving wheels. Soon enough my boy will be making the transition from being pushed around on one three-wheeled contraption to pedalling himself about on another. And soon after that in deference to bipedal ability, fully functional inner ears and the vitality of youth, the grand leap to two-wheeled vehicles awaits.

I in turn, have fallen victim to the twin vices of self-acclerated ageing and the excessive self-consciousness borne of absolute vanity. As a result I have spurned the wholesome cholesterol-bashing, heart rate-raising clean living allure of pedal-power for the ozone-destroying seductiveness of four wheels propelled by a boxer engine. The V8 below is a pleasant hallucination and besides as I suck pensively on a sour grape, I’m ‘convinced’ the damned thing lacks sufficient headroom, ground clearance, boot space, hi-def sound system, thermal vision windscreen and laser guided missiles anyway.

With God’s grace, my boy will be a grown man by the time the smell of burnt rubber has long ceased to quicken my pulse. Perhaps it never will but either way I will be old and maybe life will come full circle. The younger will have to wipe my drool, shop for adult diapers, mash my food in a blender, speak slowly in a singsong voice, adjust my blanket regularly, keep track of my medication and yes, push me around on the stroller for adults.

Shoot me now.

Audiophile: Chara – Baden Powell
Off My Shelf: Catcher in the Rye – J.D Salinger
Midday Matineé:  Citizen Kane [1941]
Starring: Orson Welles, Joseph Cotten, Dorothy Comingmore, Everett Sloane, Ray Collins
Directed by: Orson Welles

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