Baby Hates Shoegaze

Mrs J had an appointment to get her hair done this lunchtime, so we decided to go on a little outing around the Northern Quarter. Putting G in the local hipster uniform of American Apparel hoodie and Converse (yes, basically dressing your child up as yourself is a bit weird, but when else will we get to do this?), we took her to the salon so the hairdresser could coo over her. Then, leaving Mrs J there, I pushed G round the corner to Oklahoma so I could get a birthday card for a friend and sit down with a coffee.

This was the first time I'd been out with G on our own, and Mrs J had expressed some milk into a bottle in case she got peckish. But although she woke up and squirmed a bit, as you can see from the picture she was ok once I took her out of the pram. At one stage a mum with a slightly older baby girl came in and sat down at a nearby table. I secretly hoped G would react to this cuteness rival by taking an instant dislike to her, rather like the baby with one eyebrow from The Simpsons, but she didn't even seem to notice she was there.

G likes riding in her pram and had dozed off again by the time I got near the flat, so I stopped in at Vinyl Exchange. Of the many record shops near where I live it's probably my favourite, and there's always a smattering of students and slightly older hipsters in there, intensely searching the shelves and never making eye contact with anyone. But as I parked the pram next to the counter, I did notice a few people couldn't resist stealing quizzical glances at G. However, I couldn't tell whether this was because I was the first person ever to take a baby in there, or because I was the first person ever to take a girl in there.

In the end, as I was flicking through a stack of shoegaze records, G started crying. She was obviously trying to tell me something, so I took her home. Clearly you can dress babies up like their parents, but you can't teach them to like all the same stuff.