MY husband - early retired and two months off his bus pass - was discussing child car seats with the dustman the other day.

The dustman's a grandfather too, and I reckon he thought his car seat was better than ours, which we bought recently in the Mothercare sale.

He'd spotted it in the back of our new car. Until lately, that's what they'd have been discussing - the car, not the seat.

It's funny how your perspective changes with each new phase of your life. Early marriage brought our children, one of each.

It also brought a houseful of the inevitable clutter - pram (one of those big carriage-built things only posh Norland nannies use nowadays; ours was handed down from a neighbour), pushchair, nappies (those bulky terry towelling things that seemed to demand a qualification in origami to apply correctly - but you don't generally try origami on a wriggling baby).

Then there was the nappy bucket and the crib; cot, high chair, safety gate and toys of all shapes and sizes. Journeys, whether by car or public transport, meant massive advance planning. Travelling anywhere was like getting an army on the move.

That phase lasted a few years, until they grew up a bit. We sold off the bulky items (I think the pram supplied wheels for somebody's go-cart), sent the toys to good causes (or the back of the shed) and resigned ourselves to the house being taken over by years of their new interests - computers (from the basic ZX Spectrum to the first PCs) with associated games; cassettes and players; sports gear, files and books; posters on every wall.

Then they left home. The phone sat on the windowsill like a malevolent insect, ominously silent. No more calls that were never for us. The fridge had food in it, for hours together.

Now and then the offspring would reappear, hungry, with bags of washing, sweep through the house like locusts and disappear again. The bulk of their belongings remained here, cluttering up the place, through their student days and the early years of work, until they found settled homes of their own, nearer to their jobs.

They took their most precious stuff with them and threw out the rest. We suddenly had a bit of space.

But by this time, the older generation were getting older, less able to cope.

A whole new lot of clutter started to fill the house - wheelchair (two at the end), knee rugs, walking sticks, zimmer frame.

Going on holiday or out for the day took a huge amount of advance preparation. Did the desirable seaside cottage have a ground floor bedroom and handrails in the bathroom, good views, wide enough doors, somewhere to sit in the sun?

Where were the loos with easy access, cafes with good plain home cooking which you could also get a wheelchair (or two) into?

Which stately homes had gardens with level access, which was the best way into the MetroCentre?

Then, after long lives well lived, the old folks died, within weeks of one another. The wheelchairs and zimmer frame went back to social services.

We could get in the car and go off somewhere without a second thought; we could go for long walks in rough places.

Eighteen months later the grandson arrived.

Now there's a child safety gate at the top of the stairs again, a pushchair in the utility room, a high chair in a corner of the dining room.

Car seats have improved no end since our son was last in one - instead of having them bolted onto the car, you just fasten them in with a seatbelt.

There are toys under the piano, a cot in the spare room, along with a pack of disposable nappies. You can't get into the bath without skidding on a plastic duck or dislodging a squirty fish.

There's a miniature watering can by the outside tap, near Grandad's full-sized ones.

We've had to go round the house, room by room, putting things out of reach or locked away. We've started investigating child-friendly activities in the neighbourhood.

When we go out, we keep our eyes open for toilets with baby changing facilities and cafes with high chairs, and look for pushchair-accessible paths.

They say everything goes in circles, and so it does, though I suppose it never repeats itself exactly.

One day, I expect we'll be the ones who need the wheelchairs - but not for a good while yet, we hope. Meanwhile, it's odd, but this phase of baby clutter seems much more fun than the first time round.