The Sun has got His Hat On (Adventures of L-Plate Gran)

The sun is shining and we (Little G and I) are hanging out in the park. We have a picnic, some water, some fruit and a selection of toys. Little G is stripped down to her vest and a pair of baggy elasticated trousers. But there is a problem.

The sun is very shiny and Little G won't wear her hat. Now, when I was a baby (in days so far off they probably have some archaeological tag to them), small babies were regularly stripped off and allowed to wander around naked. It was called 'having an air bath' and apparently my Nanny (don't ask) was a strong advocate for the benefits of sunshine on the infant bod.

Sadly, the sun then, like many things, was far weaker, so You must be mad has dinned it into me that Little G needs to wear her lovely flowered sunhat whenever we go out in it. The problem is that Little G just doesn't want to. She hates the strings that tie under her chin. She hates the hat that shades her face.

In the end, tired of picking up the sunhat and replacing only for it to be thrown off again, I tie knots in each corner of a hankie and plonk it on her head. She looks like a total urchin, but she tolerates it. Temporarily.

We finish the picnic, have a few crawling races and head for home. I park the buggy in the living room and unload the remnants of the picnic and Little G, who immediately begins kicking off and pointing at the buggy. I lift her up so that she can show me what's wrong ... a favourite toy has been left ungathered? Nope. She points at the sunhat.

I give it to her. She puts it on, then hurries to the full length mirror, hauls herself to her feet and begins chuckling and admiring herself. All afternoon she potters round happily, playing with her toys and wearing the sunhat. Indoors. 

To be continued ....    .....