Onwards and Upwards

Another lift story, slightly shorter than the last one.

I'm already in the lift with J at the local department store. He is alert and looking around. A mother steps in with her little girl in a pushchair.

She looks at me and then looks down at J looking up at her. There is no preamble.

Lift Mother: He looks just like you doesn't he?

Pause

Me: Do you know that's the first thing anyone says?

The rest of the lift's rise continues in silence. The doors open. Exit me, quickly.  

It's not that I don't mind the comment, but when it's the only thing that gets said...

Elevation

J and me are waiting for a lift to take us from the platform at the local railway station. A mother approaches at speed with her little girl in her pushchair, stopping just short of us.

Speedy Mum: Wheeeee!

The little girl laughs

Me: I see you do that too.
Speedy Mum: It'a a time filler. Got to keep them amused somehow.
Me: True. 

The lift door opens 

Speedy Mum: Look Lottie, a lift. (to me) She loves lifts.
Me: He's quite partial to them too.
Speedy Mum: It's funny that, isn't it?
Me: For him it's often a double whammy. He likes the movement and, when there is one, looking in the mirror.
Speedy Mum: Great! How old is he?
Me: Seven months.
Speedy Mum: Wow!
Me: (to baby) And hello Lottie - how old are you?
Speedy Mum: Six months.
Me: Aw.

Pause as the lift doors open and we step out

Me: Just a thought, but if she likes lifts, you should try the ones at Tate Britain - they're really tall. Massive doors too. She's sure to like it.
Speedy Mum: Oh - that's a good place to go. She'll like that. Byeeee!

Lottie and her mother scoot away.

A Boy Thing?

In a project that my internal dialogue calls 'The Further Adventures of Daddy and J', I am using at least a day a week of my extended paternity leave to take J somewhere interesting. At seven months of age, he's not particularly aware of each place, but he seems to have fun and that's what counts. Our most recent trip: Tate Britain.

An older lady (OL) stops us to have a chat with J. I think it's because I put him forward facing. 

OL: Do you think it's a boy thing?
Me: Eh?
OL: What he's doing... with his feet.

I look down and witness the same view of J that I see most minutes of the day. Once again, he has pulled his socks off and is holding his feet. This is nothing new to me.

OL: My daughter, she never played with her feet, but my son wouldn't leave then alone.
Me: Her feet?

She looks puzzled (I couldn't resist taking such a golden opportunity to deliberately misunderstand)

OL: (missing my joke) No, his own feet. And now all these years later, his son does the same. I think it must be a boy thing.
Me: Oh, he's always pulling his socks off. That's what babies do, don't they? Mind you, he does pick things up with his feet.
OL: Really?
Me: He holds a toy up quite comfortably and then uses his hands to play with it.
OL: My goodness.

By her expression, this appears to be the most wondrous thing in the world. I could understand if she was still talking directly to J, but she isn't.

Me: I think his Grandad started him off doing that.
OL: Well there we are - knowledge passed on down the male line.
Me: (joking) You never know, perhaps there's a gene for it.
OL: Maybe...

We leave it at that. I think I may have inadvertently given credence to her theory.