I’m beginning to think that every new mother has an Achilles heel.
I could try and summarise the types of new mothers out there – and as with anything, there is a spectrum – but if I were to deftly and broadly do so now, I’d say there is
- The Bargain Hunter: Got everything on ebay and overseas for super cheap or second-hand. Will rather gleefully beat any sale price you got by 20% (but probably spent over $2,000 in labour hours doing the sleuthing.)
- The Big Spender: Got the Rolls Royce version of everything you can think of, and even more that you haven’t. Has the latest gizmos money can buy. Her nursery makes Martha Stewart’s magazine look like the Kmart catalogue.
- The Accidental Splurger: Goes middle of the road for most things, until she trips over the most ridiculously-priced [insert contraption that baby will grow out of in 2 years], falls fatally in love, and squishes the cerebral while the heart screams “GET IT NOW! WHILE STOCKS LAST!”
And there are shades in between, of course. I suspect many of us secretly aspire to be the first or the second. But I have to say that most mothers I know seem to fit into the last category. They will try to be sensible. Look for the cost-savings. Be thankful and gracious for hand-me-downs.
Until they see this heart-stoppingly beautiful baby whoop-dee-doo, and all reason flies out the nursery window.
Some mothers do it with nursery furniture. Matchy-matchy everything. I’ve long given up trying to match ANY of the woods in my house, so my only criteria had been that our nursery furniture is clean, meets the latest safety standards, serves the child longer than the life of a hamster, and doesn’t come in a colour that makes me gag.
No, my kryptonite is the lowly pram.
Except I don’t want a lowly pram. I want to pimp my ride, so to speak. I want rims on the wheels, and a dashing silhouette that breaks hearts and makes burly men grunt, “Dang. That is HAWT.” I want the ability to swop and change colours. Actually, I want the ability to swop and change everything. Height. Handlebars. Front facing. Back facing. Hood. Bassinet. Umbrella. Conversion into makeshift bed or high chair. For newborns. For toddlers. For winter. For summer. In sunshine. In rain. To love and cherish till grown child do us part.
And oh yes. I want it to fit in our boot. And not break my back or my nails. And close in a single, elegant, one-handed move. And glide like a dream.
Which means our shortlist reads a little like this:
And yes, in that order.
In truth, only the Mylo and the Urbo fit most if not all the criteria. The Bugaboos have been a hot favourite with many mothers for years, but after wrestling with both in the shops for a good half an hour, I think they’d drive me crazy.
The Xplory we love, because the Xplory is tall. And it’s a handsome urban-chic pram, once you get past the office-chair legs. But it’s not the easiest when it comes to collapsing and stowing (there’s no safety catch when it’s folded, so putting it away in the backseat may be a small ordeal). And it’s a whopping $1,800. Without the “optional extras”. We found it online for $1,500, but still…
And then I met the Mylo. At first, I thought it looked like a spider. But then as we got better acquainted, I noticed how much taller it is than the average pram (though not as tall as Xplory). How the price included the bassinet. How clever it was that the bassinet apron used magnets instead of velcro.
Then the sales lady placed the bassinet on the ground and gently rocked it, and I was intrigued.
Then she folded the entire thing in a single wrist-twist, and I was besotted.
I don’t honestly know why. There are heaps of other prams that fold easily. But the heart wants what the heart wants. The Urbo seems to be Tony’s favourite because of its price tag and the fact that it’s lightweight. But I can’t decide if it’s industrial grunge or just resembles a shopping trolley. And it’s black, which years of living in Singapore tells me can get really warm. Not to mention the lovely juxtaposition of milk spittle. Ew.
We shall see. Another long weekend looms upon us, and I have yet to change my fickle, fickle mind.
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P.S.: I am not alone. There are others like me. Good to know. ~ 6 January 2011
Finding The Happy 