Conversations about babies

At the baby sensory class, we were talking at the end to a couple of other new parents; obviously about our children and stuff. This kind of conversation annoys and frustrates me terribly. The reason they annoy me is because all conversations between parents at any such class actually consist of is just a string of inane facts about the parent's own child. The conversation moves back and forth, with each person contributing vapid tripe about what time their children go to bed; what they eat; what they like to play with etc etc. So, written down, it might look something like this:

Parent 1: My baby has moved onto solids now.

Parent 2: My baby, too, has moved onto solids. Mine likes rusks in milk.

Parent 1: Mine likes baby rice.

Parent 2: We tried ours with baby rice but ours doesn't like it.

Parent 1: We tried ours with it and it liked it straight away.

Parent 2: Our baby goes to sleep at the night time and then wakes up some irrelevant amount of time later.

Parent 1: Ours goes to sleep and then wakes up, too, but at a slightly different, equally irrelevant time.

Parent 2: Our baby wears clothes.

Parent 1: Same. Our baby also wears disposable nappies to trap their faeces and piss.

Parent 2: Ours wears reusable nappies.

Parent 1: Our baby likes to sleep in the daytime.

Parent 2: We can't get our baby to sleep in the daytime much.

Parent 1: When our baby won't sleep at night time, we wish we were dead.

...this goes on until it stops. Sometimes up to ten hours later. Then both parents wander away. So much life has been wasted in this pointless vacuum of conversation oblivion.

Where was I? Ah yes: baby sensory.

I was chatting to the only other dad there and I felt myself getting drawn into a conversation much like this. Sometimes, you just can't avoid it. I can't stand the nothingness and the one upmanship of everyone thinking they are doing everything better for their child than you are for yours. Anything you are doing for your child is scrutinized to the nth degree and everyone is an expert. Everyone who is a parent knows more than you do. Everyone. With that in mind, I seized the moment to end our conversation and said, "C'mon, Noah, let's go and get you a yummy McDonald's." I thought it was funny. I also thought Cheryl would have found it funny, but Cheryl had already wandered away so I looked like I was being serious.

I bet they had a lovely time huffing and scoffing at us all the way home.

Still, Noah wolfed that Big Mac down like an urban fox in a nursery. Chicken coop. I meant chicken coop.