T A B L E_ T A L K

Do you trust your gynecologist? Discuss your relationship with that most intimate of doctors in Table Talk's Mothers area

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R E C E N T L Y

Turtle time
By Anne Lamott
Salon welcomes back Anne Lamott after a six-month hiatus, and she announces she has overcome Linda Tripp, an expanding waistline and her compulsion to keep writing books
(10/15/98)

Time For One Thing: Acupuncture
By Lisa Moskowitz
My muscles relax. My eyes close. There is no real pain, just the apprehension of pain
(10/14/98)

Wild Things: Strange brew
By Polly Shulman
Love and art are the twin redeemers for the hipster heroes and heroines of Francesca Lia Block's young adult novels
(10/13/98)

School girl
By Thylias Moss
I thought all girls -- regardless of color -- were heading toward vast opportunities. Then I learned the truth. An excerpt from "Tales of a Sky-blue Dress"
(10/12/98)

The gracefully aging boys of summer
By Joan Walsh
Is it merely a coincidence that the playing years of the major leaguer correspond to the period of peak fecundity of the American woman?
(10/08/98)

BROWSE THE MOTHERS WHO THINK FEATURE ARCHIVES

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Mamafesto
By Camille Peri
Why it's time
for Mothers Who Think

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BABIES NO. 1 AND 2 HAD TO SUFFER THROUGH LESS-THAN-PERFECT STROLLERS. BUT BABY NO. 3 WILL HAVE THE IDEAL RIDE -- THAT IS, IF THERE IS A BABY NO. 3.
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BY LISA KLEINMAN | More than nine years ago, during the last trimester of my first pregnancy, I was busy acquiring all the things I believed a new baby and new mother would need: changing tables, diaper bags, nursing bras, a front carrier. I live in New York City, but at the time I commuted to work in New Jersey, so I had the advantage of suburban stores and a car. But I was also at a disadvantage -- although I didn't know it at the time. I had no experience as a city parent, and I was dealing with salespeople who had a suburban mentality.

I didn't really do much work during those last three months, content instead to concentrate on shopping. One of my obsessions during my frequent shopping excursions was choosing a stroller. I imagined that of all the paraphernalia I'd acquire for the baby, the stroller would be the most useful. I envisioned myself pushing it down the street, another new mother at my side. I could see myself sitting in the park reading a novel while the baby napped in the perfect, cozy stroller.

It is now unbelievable to me that no one offered me advice on choosing one, nor did I seek any. But most of my friends either had slightly older children or none, so the subject just didn't come up. And I wasn't around my urban neighborhood during the day to see what the new moms were pushing. So I went to a baby-equipment superstore, where I chatted with the salesman and ended up with a lovely Aprica stroller. I no longer own this piece of apparatus, but I remember it well. Something between a pram and a lightweight folding stroller, it looked more like a lunar landing module than anything else. It must have had a metal frame but it seemed to be made mostly of plastic. Its double wheels seemed sturdy enough when I rolled it around the showroom floor. The basket underneath seemed adequate, and the backrest, which could be lowered until it was completely flat, was perfect for a newborn. As I recall, most of the other strollers in the store looked similar to the one I chose, except for the folding umbrella strollers that seemed more appropriate for toddlers, and the expensive prams that resembled cribs on wheels.

When the baby was born, we rested for a few days, and then I tucked Jacob into the Aprica for the first time and we hit the street. After I managed to get the stroller through the narrow entrance of our brownstone, that is. I hadn't thought to measure the width. This was my first clue that I had bought the wrong stroller, and a few minutes later I realized that my problems were just beginning. The Aprica was, perhaps, a great model for suburbanites, since it folded so quickly and fit snugly in a trunk. But for irregular Brooklyn sidewalks and curbs, it was a disaster. The wheels couldn't cope with the cracked sidewalk, and the bulky frame was difficult to heave up the curbs that didn't have curb cuts. Just when the bumpy ride had lulled Jacob to sleep, a wheel would catch in a particularly deep crack and bounce him awake.

I learned to adapt soon enough, however, and mastered the art of getting the stroller out of the house. I also quickly figured out which blocks were smoothest and had curb cuts. Even so, I couldn't help but notice the sleek stroller that virtually everyone else seemed to be pushing around. This ingenious model, the MacLaren Dreamer, was as compact and streamlined as an umbrella stroller, shaped like a right triangle with a snug bucket seat to cuddle a baby. Underneath the seat was a basket with lots of space to store groceries -- by now I had determined that the Aprica's basket just didn't cut it for cumbersome loads.

I coveted a Dreamer, but I was too cheap to buy one. I put up with the despised Aprica for three months, then bought an umbrella stroller and improved the quality of my life somewhat. An umbrella stroller has curved handles that look like umbrella handles and a simple cloth seat that reclines. It folds accordion-style into a small, light object that you can hook over your arm. Now I could zip in and out of my house and any store in the neighborhood. The sturdy wheels had no trouble with most sidewalk cracks and it was easy to leverage this stroller up and down the curbs. As for Jacob, he didn't seem to notice the difference, although old ladies, presumably with the sagacity of experience, stopped me on the street to inform me that he needed more support for his back. In the end, even the umbrella stroller couldn't match the MacLaren Dreamer.

N E X T_ P A G E: New baby, new stroller