Public Transport

Leaving the house with two small children needs little comparison to a moon landing mission.  After having changed, fed, changed again and put my daughters shoes on the right feet for the umpteenth time, then fought my way past the dog, I can breathe a sigh of relief upon fastening both the monsters into my car and then curse (quietly) that I have left my wallet on the stairs, so I fight my way back past my ‘scrappy doo wannabe’ dog and leave the house once again, wallet firmly about my person. In the car we drive the shameful mile and a half into town and make for a space with enough room to angle both tots out of the car and into the buggy, without decapitating either of them or causing grievous bodily harm to either of the vehicles we are parked between. Sounds like a horror house roller coaster ride to most parents who dare to leave the house without their significant other. BUT nothing could prepare me for the terror that is public transport…

After the initial running around and mental torture of a 2yr old repeatedly singing  the self remixed version of Twinkle Twinkle little baa baa sheep, I have a 12 wk old cocooned in a front carrier and the tot in the spare buggy daring to do the impossible, walking into town to visit the post office and then braving the public petri dish that is disguised as a bus journey.  

Arriving at the bus stop in good time the queue is already longer than the dole line on payday and I have the sudden realization that those ‘clever’, ‘no step’ buses appear to not to exist on this route which sole purpose is to service most of the rinse and tartan brigade as well as those who had kids before learning to drive (or acquire their own home…) I attempt a single handed buggy collapse, epic fail, which results in a screaming baby who has been woken by the constant leaning over and whispered promises of being skipped if it doesn’t F***ing fold down whilst the cherubic daughter clutches her Peppa Pig handbag and looks at passers -by as if to say ‘Im only with her because Nanna is at work’. Eventually a young mum takes pity on me and offers to put the buggy on the bus with the promise that ‘she knows how I feel’ , really then why haven’t you learnt to drive yet, but could secretly marry the girl and have more of her kids out of gratefulness for her help. Upon paying the £1.70 I could have put towards a cheap bottle of plonk to get over the initial shock of public transport I sit the toddler next to me and attempt to pacify a now screaming baby whilst reassuring my daughter that her fantastic idea to catch a bus really is the highlight of my week…little did I realise that leaving the bus is like dismounting a bucking bull at a Texas Rodeo. We reach our stop and I attempt to drag the buggy out of the midget proof buggy store and fling the safety catch in the hope that it will pop up like some miraculous fairy godmother offering a white knight and steed to transport us over the bus threshold, but as you’ve guessed this ‘aint’ my ruddy day! A less tartan and more plaid 70 something assists with the buggy whilst my daughter decides to face plant off the edge of the ‘also midget proof’ bus seat in front of the entire congregation of public transport worshippers. Several apologies later and a few choice words muttered about the F***wit bus driver I am at the kerbside reassembling the pushchair and my dignity before scurrying away to dig out the gin and anti-bac wipes to try and scrub out the memory of the terror of todays little outing.