I am embarassed.

Today I missed an occasion to keep my mouth shut... or at least, think a little bit longer about what comes tumbling out of it.

Hugo and I were at the park playing on the slide. A woman was chasing a little boy around, he was giggling happily and she was too. It was lovely until I spoke...

"Is that your grand-child?" I asked... In that moment, as she registered what I had said, I knew it was too late to take it back.

"No... he's my son," she replied. I almost physically felt her deflating in front of me and I felt like such an idiot.

I apologised but the damage was done. Coincidentally, as I was mumbling uselessly, Hugo threatened to fall off the slide so I moved away and caught him. By the time I was done, the lady was back to playing with her son.

As I looked at her again, I realised that she didn't even look like a grand-mother. She did look older than me but not by a whole generation.

I don't know what happened. I think it was because her style and general appearance were so far removed from the Yummy Mummy style I have come to expect at the park I visit.

Half the mothers who come are dressed in stretchy running / yoga outfits, sipping lattes and pushing fancy prams. She wasn't doing any of those things.

And there have been a few times when most children were in fact being minded by their grand-parents, while their latte sipping yummy mummies were most likely at work.

Since my lady at the park didn't fit into the first category, my silly mind didn't think long enough not to chuck her into the latter category...

I didn't want to leave it like that so I reignited the conversation starting by asking how old her son was. We made small talk. I'm pretty sure she asked me how old my little girl was (Apparently red pants are for girls). Her mistake about my baby's gender rectified the balance at tiny bit but of course, it wasn't the same.

I think we left it on good terms but still, I hope my comment doesn't come back to sting her as she is falling asleep tonight.

If it is any consolation, my embarrassment will be stinging me.

Next time, I'll simply ask, "and how old is your little one?" No grand-mas, no boy or girl.

Keeping it simple.

It might not be coming out yet but it's definitely going in.

Hugo was given a cute Peter Rabbit book for his birthday. It's a little board book which has a little finger puppet of Peter Rabbit which comes through a hole in every page.

Hugo finds it so hilarious when I wiggle the puppet that this book is now his new favourite, overtaking the French nursery rhyme singing one.

The end of every page goes, "But where's Peter Rabbit? ... Here he is!" (wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, laugh, laugh, laugh)

Now jump to this morning, Hugo and I were playing with a ball on the floor. For no reason, I decided to do some rabbit ears with my fingers above my head and I said, "Look, I'm just like Peter Rabbit."

Well, there is no tricking Hugo. He stopped what he was doing, got up, walked all the way across the living room towards his pile of books and without any hesitation, picked up the Peter Rabbit book which he carried all the way back to me.

It's all going in.

Once a mother, always a mother.

Yesterday I took Hugo to the beach. It was the perfect day for it. Warm water and a cool breeze.

After having a little dip, Hugo was playing near our towels and a lady probably in her 70s stopped by us on her way to the showers.

She bent over, gave Hugo a big smile and laugh, and asked how old he was. I answered and she said, "I remember when my little boy was learning to walk too!

He is 43 now but my little William was just like you!"

In that moment, her "little William" was again a one year old stumbling on a beach on a beautiful autumn day, and she was a young mother, glowing with the happiness that little things bring.