When It Happens Panel Get involved: send your photos, videos, news & views by texting 'OXFORD NEWS' to 80360 or email
Is it ever ok for mother and baby to park in a disabled space?
A few weeks ago, during the swine flu outbreak that struck down my husband and son, I had to stop at Tesco in Abingdon to pick up some pain killers (having stropped out of Tesco at Didcot theatrically after the pharmacist was mean to me).
Anyway, I’d been out of the house for nearly two and a half hours and was increasingly conscious of my bed ridden husband waiting at home. I could imagine him, back of hand draped over brow, begging for water and cocodamol. I don’t care what you say; men, and husbands in particular make awful patients.
So, it was raining to add to the drama, and I scooted round to the mother and baby parking near the front of the shop to find that, as usual, there were of course no spaces free.
I loitered for a few moments, feeling the clock ticking louder, my heart rate quickened. I felt like I was on a game show. Then, a space came free. Dammit. The car reversed out, revealing a wheelchair (not a real – what were you thinking?!!!!), rather than the mother with buggy icon I’d hoped for.
I paused, thinking – this is a sort of emergency, I’m in a real hurry, I never abuse these spaces normally, and this surely is an exception. Right?
So I shot into the space, grabbed Noah and ran into the shop to get supplies. Feeling a hole in my shoe as I ran, my sock soaked up the cold rain water. Bummer.
I quickly got what I needed and left Tesco. Remembering the hole in the sole of my (absolute favourite cowboy) boots, I tried to avoid stepping on that part of my foot, and further drenching my sock.
As I reached the car and remembered my parking predicament I froze in horror.
In my attempt to protect my sock, I had charged across the car park doing a very strange lungy, lurchy type hobble.
Sh*t (no other word for it, I’m sorry). I prayed that no one was watching me. If they were it would have looked very much like some elaborate attempt to justify my position in a disabled parking space, with a very strange wobbly injured foot type dance.
Oh, the shame.
In this section
Our top writers
My name is Catherine and I am mum to Noah, or the bear as we call him (because he growls at things –lions fine, but also hedges, cars and birds). We live in Oxford with Mr Dad. The bear arrived in August 2008, a month early and taking us all by surprise, having just come down from the stepladder the night before, I had been busy putting the finishing touches to the redecoration of our house (I blame the nesting instinct). Mr Dad works hard, commuting to London for his job, so every minute with the bear is precious. I run my own PR company, working a three day week, leaving as much quality family time as possible, but at the same time working hard to build up a successful business and make the best future for our family. We have a lot of fun, and through my mummy blog share the tears, tantrums and truly magical moments of parenthood – and maybe in time, the arrival or a little brother or sister for the bear.