They say that there are two things you can be sure of in life, and that is death and taxes. Well I disagree. I believe there are three things you can be absolutely, completely sure of. Death, taxes and that your children will produce mountains and mountains of poo. The sheer amount of waste produced by a baby is just staggering. Many times I watch Charlie change the babies' nappy. There is already a load of poo in there but as she wipes more and more keeps coming out. It looks like someone has grabbed a tube of curry flavoured toothpaste and just squeezed it as violently as they can.
There is nothing that can prepare you for this part of being a dad. Nothing! You can read all the books you want, watch other people change their little poop machines or even scoop the cat litter. When all is said and done, you will be elbow deep in baby poo thinking how did my life take this course of direction? Don't be fooled either when people tell you about how the fact it's your own child's poo, so it won't matter as much. Poo is poo. It smells bad and looks horrible.
Having spent the best part of six years changing nappies, I've noticed all that mess comes in a catalogued amount of shapes, consistencies and colours. Sometimes it will look like chicken Korma sauce, others like rabbit droppings. On the odd occasion it will "squirrel tail" up the back of the nappy, when they have been sitting down during the process. Here we are talking potential clothing contamination and almost certainly a half pack of wipes.
Talking of baby wipes, I have a major issue with their use. Nine times out of ten when you are changing your child's nappy you need to hold on to their legs with one hand and do everything else with the other. Why then, do the makers of baby wipes insist that they are held together with what seems like industrial strength glue? When I am at my most desperate and my son has squirrel tailed badly, I reach for a wipe to find that another thirty come with it. I look like a magician who has tried that awful trick where by the hankies keep coming endlessly out of his sleeve. Who made these wipes, Mary Poppins? I usually try to separate them with some sort of demented flicking method. But this leads to three or four wipes in my hand, loads on the floor and a long trail hanging out the pack.
For some reason child faeces seem to be attracted to my other half. When Toby our two year old was a baby, a serious incident occurred. She was changing his nappy on the sofa and all was normal. Carefully wiping his bum to make sure he was clean, there was no sign at all at what was about to happen. Then out of nowhere, Toby produced the most violent fart you could ever hear. If you were sat next to him it would have no doubt perforated your ear drum.
Unfortunately for my other half, the wind was not the only thing to leave Toby's bum. It was accompanied by what I can only describe as a laser guided explosion of poo. Unfortunately for Charlie she was in the direct line of sight and the poo sprayed all over her. In the process it covered her white top, as well as getting her on the neck and arms. It looked like I had loaded a paintball gun with little poo filled bullets and unloaded them at her.
As you can imagine, this was pretty much the funniest thing I'd ever seen, and I was rolling on the floor with laughter.
I am not completely immune from these types of scenarios I'm afraid. I have been caught once on a trip to the local supermarket, which taught me a lesson I will never forget.
After completing the weekly shop with Toby, who was then eighteen months old, I loaded up the car for a nice relaxing drive home. However, as I picked Toby up from the trolley I could see that his nappy had leaked slightly. I had a call to make here. Do I leave it until I am home or shall I quickly change him in Tesco? These were the days that Toby lived off juice so acknowledging this I thought I'd go get him changed. What an absolute mistake that was, as I would rather he have been sitting in a puddle of urine when I got home than what actually happened.
So I got inside and entered the baby changing room. No problems so far. I laid Toby down on the side and started to undress him. He was a bit unhappy but nothing out of the ordinary. Then it happened. As I removed his nappy to wipe him down, my coat accidently set off the hand drier. Toby for some reason is petrified of these, and he started to cry. The longer it went on the more upset he was getting until bam, he started to wee. It shot out at what seemed like a hundred miles per hour. I had to simultaneously try to block it with a wipe as well as direct him away from any clothes. I failed miserably on both counts. It was spraying over his trainers, his socks, the counter and the wipes too. I had it all over my trousers, my sleeves and my jacket. The drier continued to bellow and he continued to wee. This unfortunately made him more upset and he was becoming hysterical.
Finally the barrage of toddler urine stopped so I whacked a new nappy on him and sat him on the chair behind me. Luckily I had a little bag of Haribo in my pocket and I gave him some to calm down. Now I could step back and observe the scene. It was pure mess. Urine soaked wipes were strewn across all areas and pools of wee had formed on the flat changing surface. His changing mat was on the floor, and it looked like I had accidently trod on it as it was now a muddied, sodden mess. I truly felt sorry for whoever was cleaning this room later on. A college frat house after a graduation party probably looked better.