Less than half an hour later I suddenly remembered why we hadn't been to the park in so long. We head straight for the swings as usual. Boy and Girl sit side by side in the baby swings and we indulge in the usual Ready, steady, go! and Got your feet! Got your tummy! Got your nose! Both babies are in fits of giggles, grinning at each other and generally the picture of happy families. After about 10 or 15 minutes I try and persuade Boy to try playing on the slide or the roundabout for a change. He shakes his head, so I push for another five minutes. Now Girl is getting cold. Out she comes and gets wrapped up in the buggy.
I gently extract Boy and nudge him towards the slide. He climbs the ladder, with a bit of help then stands at the top whining incoherently. In the end I have to lift him down and he runs straight back to the swings. A familiar creeping sense of foreboding has suddenly come across me. After another five minutes, my hands are numb and Girl is turning slightly blue. The sun may be shining, but let's be real here: it's Galway, and it's February.
The usual snack and chugger bribery has failed. Eventually I drag Boy kicking and screaming from the park just in time to run into a friend taking her pink and smiling baby out for a morning stroll. I try to swap buggies without her noticing but she's too smart for me. Boy is headbutting the side bars of the buggy and wailing as if I have just deprived him of the only pleasure he has ever experienced. This tantrum lasts half an hour (yes, I timed it). That's longer than we spent in the park altogether. Eventually he falls asleep, nose smooshed into the front bar of the buggy, just moments before we reach home.
It may be a while before we go to the swings again. There is plenty of other fun to be had: watch this space...
