Venturing out with Lola strapped to my chest in her “kangaroo-cito” as they call it way down in south America, I realised today that I am proud of my baby in the most deeply uncool way.
She’s mostly been out and about in her pram, so it was only today when random strangers started cooing and clucking over her that I felt this silly grin on my face and realised that I was so just so proud of her. Proud of her in the way I used to be proud about baking a cake or winning a race or writing a good story when I was a little kid, but times a squillion. The kind of joy that has yet to be diluted by caring about what other people think about you.
So every time someone gave her an admiring glance I grinned and MADE EYE CONTACT. As anyone who has lived in big city knows, this is a clear sign that I am mad. It felt good too; I was just so happy, in the most uncomplicated way, that other people were admiring her.