We’ve got new wheels! That is, a new car.

At the grand ages of 31, it’s actually the first car Ian or I have ever owned as “our own”. We both learned to drive as soon as it was legal at the age of 17, and then drove cars that belonged to our families rather than us. I lost my license at the age of 21 as a result of being diagnosed with epilepsy. Ian moved to London and, like most young people in London, had no need for a car. It takes longer to drive yourself almost anywhere in London than it does to use public transport. For the few occasions when a car would be useful, justifying its ongoing cost would be difficult.

When we moved out of London last year, a car was on our “to-do” list. But we were very fortunate to still not really “need” one. I live within ten minutes walk of work. We live five minutes walk from the train station from which Ian commutes to work. The same train line takes us to the two local towns we have most reason to visit and the train service is both quick and frequent. We even live within walking distance of two supermarkets, one of which will deliver your shopping after you’ve bought it. And with all the expense of buying a new house and doing it up, the car slipped down the list.

Then, suddenly, I was pregnant. And just as suddenly, a car seemed a whole lot more important. The idea of visiting friends and family travelling by train with a baby doesn’t seem appealing. Just nipping to the shops with a baby will be easier in the car. (Not to mention the whole “getting to hospital when I’m in labour” thing that I don’t want to think about at the moment and I’m going la-la-la-la-la-la because I can’t hear you saying it.)

I hope this baby is grateful that we’ve bought it a car. Honestly, I used to think friends were pretty spoiled if their parents bought them a car for their 18th birthday. This kid isn’t even born yet!


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