Stranger Encounters

Every town has one: a café filled with dazed women clutching overpriced lattes, discussing cluster feeding, and comparing nipple creams. It’s equal parts support group and trauma circle.

I was there, breastfeeding under a muslin, trying to feel normal. Around me: a chorus of new mums either preparing bottles or doing the same — half-naked under cardigans.

And then, it happened.

An elderly woman approached our table. Lovely smile. Harmless cardigan.

She looked down at my baby and said, “Oh, what a dear. What’s her name?”

“It’s Nellie,” I said.

Then — without warning — she began to sing.

Not a hum.

Not a line.

The entire song.

“Nellie the Elephant packed her trunk and said goodbye to the circus…”

She acted it out. Full trunk-swinging motions.

We froze.

Six new mums and a tiny audience of milky-eyed infants watched in silent horror.

No one moved.

No one stopped her.

We just sat there — boobs out, bottles warmed, sleep-deprived — watching this woman perform an unsolicited musical number about my child, like some fever dream of polite British chaos.

When she finished, she patted my shoulder and said, “That’s a lovely name.”

Then left.

No one spoke for a full minute.

One woman finally whispered, “What the actual fuck was that?”

We all shrugged, bewildered. The tension broke — we all keeled over with laughter. Then, we carried on with our lattes and feeding our babies.

Motherhood is weird like that — endless tiny humiliations, delivered by strangers who think they’re being kind.

In public you’re now both invisible and on stage. Babies make people forget themselves entirely.

Survival Tips

• Sit near other mums. There is safety in numbers and shared disbelief.

• Choose cafés with corner seating and quick exits.

• If someone starts performing, stay very still. Sudden movement encourages encores.

• Remember: they’re the rude one here.