A long time ago, when I was pregnant with my Emma-Lee, the Machinist and I went shopping for a bed. We came home with a brand new lounge and dining room suite, but no bed. We've kept both suites in immaculate condition over the years and are still in possession of them to this day. However, I've always longed for a leather lounge set; two doubles and two triple seaters, - in dark brown (of course). Earlier this year, the Machinist bought us a new leather lounge. To cut a long story short, the two two-seaters were taken to the Cafe, and placed in front of the combustion fire, to sit on and linger with a cup of coffee or hot chocolate.
Today, after the Machinist had put the Cafe signs out on the highway, we sat together with Sam, and his girl, Hayley. A young woman walked over to the leather lounges, plonked her baby down on one of them and proceeded to take the baby's pants off and change its nappy.
I couldn't take it any more. I had to get up and flee to the kitchen. This week, the two seaters will be removed from the Cafe and taken back home, where they belong.
We have no changing table. We have no parents room. It is a FOOD establishment. Whatever happened to changing your own child in your own car?
Which leads me to the next train of thought....
There are a lot of young women today - young mothers who carry on as if they are complete heroines for actually giving birth to and raising a child. Some of them think they can turn on fertility (or lack of it) like a light switch, at their own whim.
Mothers of old never abused this blessing of child bearing and rearing. They were honourable and would never impose their motherly duties on anybody.
(A wee bit) Cranky in Collector....