Once upon a time my life was baby free and beautiful. By beautiful I mean: clean, lacking pratical clothing, easy to leave the house and full of endless hours spent in drinking establishments. Occasionally I would arrange to meet friends with babies, to which the question of “I’m not sure if that place is baby friendly” often came up. That ‘place’ frequently meaning the pub. I assumed that viewing the pub as evil, like many aspects of child rearing, was something I failed to grasp the concept of (along with presenting raisins as a delightful treat) and I’d get it if/when I sqwoze a TH out.
Five months into my own rearing of tiny human (TH) I am yet to discover why the pub is such a terrible place to take him; in fact I’m convinced its an undiscovered gem of convenience. Now I’m not stupid, I know perfectly well some people read this with the sole intention of knocking my parenting style, while reinforcing they are doing the ‘right thing.’ For those people: I DO NOT SPEND ALL DAY EVERYDAY IN THE PUB GETTING PISSED. I could blandly list the many many MANY baby groups we go to (FYI: at least once a day we fill our boots with singing, clapping, eating coloured plastic, loving other babies in the eye and downing tea) but really that would be rather bloody boring. I LOVE baby groups, OK? Truely I do. My favourite group? An afternoon one, where we all hit the local after, babies in tow, drinking £1 wine (maternity pay needs to stretch sisters). I seriously champion the pub. I’m not advocating hanging out there all day, believe me I’ve tried. Even my 5 month old knows I’m conning him that the selection of condiments and cutlery are sensory toys. I’m just saying, give it a chance.
It’s also worth noting I’ve never really gotten coffee culture. I’ll be honest, I’m a little more open to it since having TH. There’s a fabulous coffee shop near me, where TH is a real hit with staff and they serve a bangin’ jacket spud. As a result we visit most weeks. But I just don’t get it. I could never wax lyrical about lattes and I didn’t piss myself with excitement when Costa came to town. I seriously just don’t give any fucks about hot drinks and overpriced muffins. It’s pretty safe to say TH will never be served a babyccino; the idea makes me gag at the smugness of it all. As is a common theme in my blog: my adult lifstyle preferences didn’t die with the birth of my child. Cut me in half and I bleed pub; seriously. It is with great pride I state: I went into labour in our local AND it was the first place I went after I had him. We still go in most weeks; the landlady doesn’t think twice about scooping up TH and taking him behind the bar to pull pints.
Many years ago taking a baby, or a child, to the pub was unheard of. Grandma Gobshite reliably informs me that in her day it was a serious no go, smokey and bloke filled boozers dominated the pub scene. Times have seriously changed, the smoking ban was clearly a big one and also the rise of ‘ladette’ culture in the 90’s. Whilst the likes of Zoe Ball and followers have mellowed out (although recent gossip rags suggest otherwise) they paved the way for women in pubs being acceptable. It is no longer an outlandish idea that a woman will walk into a bar by herself, order a drink by herself, and drink that drink by herself. Thank you progress! The biggest clue that babies are welcome too? Do I even need to write it? Seriously? OK, baby change facilities. I could get seriously pissy about them frequently being only in the ladies but I’ll suck it up, for now. Baby change (along with highchairs and colouring sheets) is a clear indication that you and your TH are welcome.
That said my favourite boozer, in which to take TH, provides nothing in the way of baby friendly facilities, literally nothing. It is in every possible sense an ‘old mans pub.’ I find I can only write about it in contrast to the neighbouring facilities. Let’s say said neighbouring facility is a large department store that does a cracking line in Christmas adverts. Let’s say it’s also supposedly baby friendly, yet has its changing facilities on a completely different floor to the café and also requires you to balance your wares (that are rather expensive) on a tray in order to get to a table. Said table is also several miles away (seemingly) and the pathway scattered with dozens of unmoving elders and their shopping. Want to park your buggy up? Fine, as long as you are at peace with the buggy blocking the entire aisle. Highchair? I don’t even know where they keep them, can only assume they are conjoured up via witchcraft. My favoured boozer next door? I can walk in, park up TH at a table, keep one hand on him and order a coke (and/or wine) with the other. What’s that he needs changing and…fuck me, there’s no changing facilities! I should get on my high horse and complain that they dare not pander to my baby needs. Oh no it’s fine to do it at the table, on the bench or (horror of Horrors) the floor! Believe me I’ve asked and pointed out it’s not going to be pretty, seriously no problem! It’s occasionally a spectator sport, hark at the weird yellow poo! I cannot even begin to describe how much more relaxing it is than navigating the mdf aisles of next door. My friend’s toddler, roams free, on the carpeted floor, amongst the empty tables and without the fear of molten liquid being poured upon his head. No way that would happen next door.
Now old men pubs are all well and good but let’s face it, they frequently serve shit wine. I’ve made no secret of the fact: I love wine. I also think it’s acceptable to have a glass or two with TH in tow, get the fuck over it haters. For a decent wine, you need a bar. Bizarrely the most baby friendly bars I’ve been to have steps BUT have also had the best changing facilities. Sister gobshite lives in another city, the best baby change in that city? A John Lewis stacker, with a proper cushioned mat and wipes. Location? Up 10 steps in a city centre bar. This city? 3 good size steps, perfect baby change and brilliant large bar both suitable for toddler roaming and baby juggling. I’m telling you: don’t be put off by steps, it’s totally worth the upper arm workout in my experience.
Now we all know, I gave up the tit long ago but it’s worth mentioning: I whacked it out in them all, from the lowly to the classy and never had an issue. In good old ‘spoons a man once approached me while TH was on a tit, glass of wine in my hand, I thought “here comes the judging”..asked if I’d let him know when I was done, so he could look at the baby!
So there we have it peeps; the pub; perfect lone lady and TH haven with all the facilities and none of the hot liquids, definitely “baby friendly.”
*Further to this blog: I’m looking into setting up a “babies, besties and a bar” group in Sheffield. A group for small people, their big people and big people’s friends, who’d like to meet up, drink a little (or a lot, or none…it’s your call) in a boozer. I’d love to know if it’s of interest to anyone.
Gobshite and Tiny 