Perambulator

As I move towards the end of the pram, as my youngest child gains independent mobility, I contemplate our relationship. I think of it as a choreographer; shaping my movement for a decade, a collaborator in the motion of my life. I think through the choreographic combination of child and pram that pushed me head-first, on my knees, shushing and singing a baby to sleep in the park or on the train, the dance of the rain cover caught in the wind and then wrestled back under control, or the expert flick of the wrists to lift the wheels and mount a pavement when there’s no dropped kerb, the one-foot kick-step to release the brakes.
I have been entangled with the pram. I know it inside out, folded up, opened out.