Monster prams are taking over the streets. Photo: Edd Aragon
I hate those monster prams. You know the ones. Obscene, humungous, four-wheel-drive prams with cup holders and bull-bars that look as if they should have bumper stickers that say: "My other pram's a sedan chair", "Fat Mums Shit Me" and "Honk if you know how much this pram cost".
Prams that reek of "My child's not just the most important human being in the world but the only baby on the planet. Wheelchairs, elderly, disabled and the rest of you filthy lowlife scum who are privileged to breathe the air of the gifted fruit of my loins, stand aside and prostrate yourself."
The pretention. The smugness. The delusion. Don't they realise how tragic it is to have a pram as a fashion statement, ego extension and social marker? The selfishness of taking up all that space when they could strap the baby on, have it in a stroller or pusher half the size is breathtaking! Pramerazzi? If you can identify the brands and models of prams, you deserve to have your child forcibly removed, your Kate Spade nappy bag confiscated and be sent to a re-education camp somewhere they don't have Huggies.
What's with people with babies coming to visit and having to bring their pram in? Hey, it's fine if they're walking. They can leave it on the veranda. A pram came over recently, (that's right, who cares about the baby? It's all about the pram) and it couldn't get through the front door so we had to take it round the back and partly dismantle it to get it through. Had they walked? No, they had driven. In the new car they had bought because the pram didn't fit in the old car. They sold their car and bought a new one not to accommodate the new baby, but to accommodate the pram. It wasn't about the baby sleeping somewhere safe. The baby was too young to move. They wanted us to see the pram more than the baby.
What's with these pramzillas chocking up every fricken cafe? If you need something the size of a monster truck to transport something the size of a frozen chicken, rack off back to Malvern and take your Pumpkin Patch catalogues with you. What's with going out to cafes with babies anyway? Back in my day, mums knew their place. At home with the mothers' group, a Boston bun and one Ikea catalogue to share as we sat round whingeing about husbands and discussing vaginas.
Got a monster pram and hang out at cafes? This is from all of us: "Leave your pram at home or leave cafes to people like me pretending to be cool and acting like I don't have kids."
Are we going to need the streets and doorways widened for these thrones on wheels? Don't these mumzillas realise the flashier their pram, the uglier their baby looks? Maybe the idea is the fat prams make the mums look thinner.
I found myself in Baby Bunting in Balwyn checking out what these industrial strength baby-movers cost. Bugaboo is the name mentioned most. Close to two grand for the limited issue in the charcoal denim. For a pusher. You can buy a car for that.
Love this though - I spent yesterday at an indoor play centre in an industrial estate in Thomastown. Zagames on one side, Sexyland on the other. The place reeked of feet, groin, fried food and desperation. It was called Tickles. After 15 minutes, my son said: ''This place is so awesome! A man just taught me how to make fart noises with my armpit! His name is Spider! Can I have my birthday here?''
I chatted with the random parents, a couple of teenage mums, an unemployed dad, parents recently released from jail, and a nanna freshly out of rehab. And you know what? Thanks to the $5000 baby bonus, they all had a Bugaboo too! I saw a mum wearing a monitoring device on her ankle pushing one. That's why they call this place the lucky country.
Catherine Deveny's column appears in The Age's MelbourneLife on Wednesdays.
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