Is this really the ultimate in bad parenting?
I always wanted to be one of those clever mummies.
You know the types with Tupperware containers of organic home cooked baby food, completed with the printed sticky labels saying “organic kumara and chickpea” or “spring pea and kale”.
They would whip it out of their carefully organised baby bags, where it had been nestling neatly next to the sippy cup of cooled boiled water, the fragrance free organic wipes and the change of clothes.
I was the hopelessly unorganised one (you know the can-I-just-borrow-a-nappy-I-seem-to-have-forgotten type) I would cast envious glances towards those nappy bags while I pulled a squeezy pouch of mush out of my bag and squelched it down my son’s throat. (I couldn’t borrow a spoon too could I?)