I was at a birthday lunch ‘do’ for my father-in-law’s 70^th birthday last weekend at a popular eating (and watering) place… Well, if you must know – it was the Ballandean Tavern, which by the way, sells ‘takeaway alcohol food’ – whatever that is. Perhaps rum balls? Trifle with brandy? I wish I’d been forewarned before ordering there. Why, oh why, didn’t anyone tell me that the serving sizes were so big? I ordered 2 plates of potato wedges, imagining the saucer-sized portions you receive at the local coffee shops. Instead I was presented with a wagon wheel platter piled high with fried wedges – a barrel-load of starch and oil. Mmm, a double serve, I thought. And then, they brought the second plate! Oh dear.

Anyway, I was trying to shovel the food in my gob while holding onto a squirmy bubby. After all the other invitees at this lunch had finished their meals I was still ploughing through the salt and grease. A lady (whom I had not met previously) leaned over the table and asked if she could hold the baby while I finished eating. Without thinking, I responded, “No, thanks; I’ll be right.”

She sat back and I continued my goal of cholesterol overload. For a moment I had a flashback to the time I was struggling with another baby, Offspring Number 2, at the checkout of Woolworths. I had a tired and hungry baby in one arm, jiggling her up and down, while trying to unload my groceries onto the conveyor belt. A lady behind me in the queue offered to hold the baby while I emptied the trolley. Automatically, I declined her offer with a “No, thanks”. Stupid, I know, as I clearly could have done with an extra hand. Jiggling cranky babies is stressful at the best of times, and yet, here I was, thinking that adding another physical challenge would be quite manageable. I finished with the groceries and went home feeling regretful.

Why did I say ‘no’? The usual reason – thinking I had to be in control, be self-sufficient and capable. Pride is a terrible trait to feed and develop. It wasn’t as if I had serious doubts about the ability of the lady to hold babies - she had two strong-looking arms, and was standing upright. I'm not sure what other qualifications are needed to hold a baby. She was probably quite capable, more than I was at the time. And of course, being in a small town, I actually knew the lady vaguely from a past workplace so I was confident she wasn’t in league with any baby-napping syndicates. But there I was, declining her help, just to feel more independent, as if it was a sign of weakness to accept assistance.

I always regretted that decision, and in the following weeks when I saw this lady at the shops at the same time as me (funny how we all have our regular shopping days) I half-hoped that the situation would arise again, just so I would have an opportunity to redeem myself. I wanted to extend a small hand of friendship, in the sisterhood of mothers and grandmothers the world over who struggle to manage small children in public. Children continually need to go to the toilet just when you have a full trolley and you can’t bear to abandon it, in case someone else puts a dozen boxes of laxatives in your trolley while you’re gone, and you only discover them after you’ve paid for them all and are unpacking the bags on your kitchen floor. Well, it could happen.

You can train your children as wonderfully as the books recommend, and yet in public they will demonstrate the most rude and surprising behaviour that makes you wonder if some evil twin didn’t turn up and trade places with your child. “But my child is patient, and keeps their hands to themselves. They pick up fallen boxes and replace them on the shelves. They help to push the trolley and always speak politely to the lady at the checkout.” The child poking holes in the watermelon and demanding a Chupa-Chup NOW, could not be the same person you brought into Woolies.

 Years before the Woolies incident, I lived a day’s drive from Brisbane, trying to raise Offspring Number 1 on my own. After a year or so of ups and downs, I decided to move closer to family in the city. As I explained my reasons to an older gentleman at church, describing how I was desperate for more help than I had at the time, he responded with, “People have always been ready to help you – you just needed to ask them.” That made me think.

 Australian society, in many areas, has moved away from the old-fashioned community model where mothers took turns baby-sitting each others’ children. The extended family has been replaced by the nuclear unit that functions independently. While we may need help, we feel reluctant to ask. Observers may want to offer help, but wonder if they are intruding, or worry that they’ll be embarrassed when their offer is rejected. It’s such a shame, because everyone likes to be appreciated. And when we are on the receiving end, we not only get practical solutions to meet our needs, but we have helped someone to feel useful and know they have made a worthwhile contribution.

 So back to my dilemma of holding baby, while attempting to consume approximately 100 000 kilojoules of negligible nutrition. I whispered to hubby that I should have accepted the lady’s offer, and with a few surreptitious glances at her empty plate and likewise empty arms, we managed to sail the baby over the table to be adoringly held and admired by the others across from us. I managed to finish my plate of potato wedges, and an aging lady got to feel young again by gazing into the eyes of a precious bundle of fresh new life. A win-win situation.

Note to self: Don’t say ‘No, thanks’ again. Unless it is for another plate of wedges.

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