A couple of months ago, a friend and former colleague asked if I would speak to a journalism class she was teaching. I was on maternity leave at the time and her request was last-minute, so I told her I?d be happy to, but would have to bring my seven-month-old with me. She replied, ?Squeals of delight when I told the class he will be coming! So now you have to bring him.?
And so I ended up standing in front of her class with a baby and a heap of toys parked on a blanket at my feet while I attempted to arrange my thoughts into adult sentences about what I usually do all day. When I introduced myself and my small, round friend, there was the requisite cooing, but then I did my best to benignly ignore him and hoped everyone else would do the same. It wasn?t easy. My son had only recently mastered sitting up, so I kept glancing down to make sure he wasn?t about to topple over like a Weeble and thump his head on the floor. About halfway through my hour-long session, he got restless, so I picked him up and perched him on my hip. After another little bit, he decided he was bored with the new vantage point and began to keen like a dog that wants in the house. So, without pausing in my yammering, I unwrapped a package of Mum-Mums and offered them to him, trying to ignore the damp crumbs accumulating on my clothes.
My son was as well-behaved as a baby could be for a boring, quiet hour. But even immediately after I finished, I had zero recollection of what I said to that class. I?m su...