I used to live in the park. 'Baby's first swing' was a milestone akin to (and many months earlier than) sleeping through the night. I padded my precious firstborn's swing with a specially-brought cushion and drank in the moment. Pushing with both hands - no IPhone in sight. Seven years on, I have to admit it's worn a trifle thin. But for the sake of baby number three, I need to banish my park fatigue. I need to get my park spark back.
New Park: Luckily (or stupidly, depending on how you look at it), I've moved house with every baby. New area = new park. This helps to keep the interest of the jaded mother - for the first 10 visits anyway. As soon as you've worked out the nearest loo and escape hatch cafe, you're set.
New Child: Obviously, I wouldn't deprive my children of the park just because I'm a tad bored of it. And of course, seeing my third baby on his first - and 200th - swing, slide and roundabout is just as much of a delight as it was first and second time round. I've got it all on video to prove it. Most of these videos end abruptly as I lurch to rescue the star of the show from his latest fearless feat. For, like many younger siblings, he is daring beyond his months.
New Poo: The other day we were just on the way home from a truly lovely park outing - beautiful autumn day, sun glinting off my wee one's little curls, no serious tumbles. Until now - just by the gate, my son fell over, flat on his face. Maybe it was an uneven patch, maybe it was a rogue conker; whatever, he ended up face-planting in a pile of muck. Now, as mentioned, I'm a park veteran. We've had dog poo (obvs). We've had horse poo. We've had rabbit poo and we've had seagull poo (call it guano if you like, it's still well gross). We've even had human poo - the child's own, i hasten to add, in a particularly tumultous standing nappy change situation. But this was a first. My dear boy's face was besmirched with Canadian goose poo. As I wiped it off, I smiled to myself for ever doubting: there is always something new at the park.