A right royal weigh-in

Posted Tuesday 20th August 2013   By Ericka Waller

Dear Duchess Kate, How are you getting on? Are things settling down now? Have you learned that just because George sleeps for seven hours straight one night, not to expect it again the next?

Don’t feel you need to lie at baby group and say he does, just to fit in.

Where do you go to get George weighed? I’ll never forget taking Thing-One for her first weigh-in.

It was a rainy dark day in December. The streets were awash with dog-poo hidden under abandoned newspaper. A new mother’s nightmare, when she is still struggling to get to grips with her top-of-the-range, four-wheeled buggy.

I finally arrived at the Salvation Army cafe. Yes, that’s right. Down here in kooky Brighton, we like to mix it up a bit.  Tramps, and newborns.

The Salvation Army Cafe is an extraordinary place. The weigh-in room lies beyond the cafe full of homeless tramps, who all watched and sniggered in (drunken) amusement as I tried to get myself and my buggy through the too-small door.

Some of them asked me for money as I tried to do so, spraying me and my three-week-old-bundle with fried egg sandwich.

I’d quite like to have sworn at this point, but I’d given up doing so in public.

I finally made it into the ‘clinic’. Goodness Kate, it was awful. Worse than labour.

Millions of snotty-grotty babies and toddlers were screaming, and their shouty mothers were screaming even louder.

“Shut up Courtney, I just gave you milk.”

“Dave come here and blow your nose, it’s going all over your sister. Hang on, is that your sister?”

“Liam! Stop swinging off the curtains.”

I had to perch delicately on a very hard and uncomfortable chair while I waited. (Did you get piles too?)

As I did so, other people’s horrid children ran toy cars up my legs and tried to get into my buggy to steal things out my (shiny new) Cath Kidston changing bag. I tried to be nice to everyone and make friends… alright, I did nothing of the sort.

I clutched Thing-One to my heaving bosom (oh yes, breastfeeding has it’s “perks”. Is Wills mad on your new bosom? I was always slapping the husband’s outstretched hands from mine. Sex pest) and tried not to meet anyone’s eye or be seen kicking children over.

Finally we were called. I was so overwhelmed I can’t even remember what they said, and I never took her again.

Good luck Kate!

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