Calling Social Services

Babies cry. I know this. I want to be clear that I know this. I also know that they do it for a variety of reasons and sometimes for no reason at all. Babies cry. I get it. There is a simple elimination process, food, nappy, wind. Once you have them out of the way the little fellow normally stops and all is well. But sometimes he just cries.

I suppose that because a great many of us have had children already this fact is know to many. In fact you could call it notorious. So why do I feel like I do? Why do I feel that when I am out minding him and he cries, at any moment someone is going to call Social Services. When Ciara is around it's not a problem. She can feed him (the number one solution) or she can smile that smile and let people know that, you know, babies cry. Me, I'm just an old man with a child in a buggy.

I have stolen the child and that's why he's crying. I have not fed him for weeks, I haven't changed his nappy and he is harbouring a lump of wind as big as a football. That's what runs through my head. The wails of my young child are so plaintive. They go directly through my brain and demand a physical response. When that response is as weak as picking Max up and rocking him and he still wails, I am convinced I am next in the family courts.

Everyone can hear him, there are seasoned parents turning to each other and exchanging knowing glances and whispers. They are commenting on my parenting skills or lack of them. They are taking out their phones and calling the authorities. They are explaining to their own daughters how important it is that they don't marry a man like that fellow. They are coming over and offering advice as a ruse to see the child and make sure he isn't physically harmed. They are....

Then he stops crying. My heart rate returns to normal, the sound of approaching sirens recedes and the man in the hi-vis jacket turns down another street. Panic over. Run back to Mum for a good feed and a nappy change.