I had a trial run and a little help yesterday but today I changed my very first nappy all on my lonesome. The first of many, many, many nappies, as Commandant Lassard might say.
Izzy was being rather vocal and clearly it was because she needed changing. I dutifully stepped up to the plate with my damp cotton wool (which I probably could have used to mop my brow, new nappy and cream.
She’s still producing poo of the rather black variety, I’m not being disgusting but that’s what it is, a cross between tar and that black oily stuff that crawled into people’s eyes in The X Files, not that I think I’d be too keen to get this stuff in my eyes as I am sure it would smart a bit.
The pressure was on as I wanted to do the change right, not ending up in that Three Men and a Baby situation where they pick the baby up and the nappy just falls away, and sharpish to quash her crying.
It wasn’t the smoothest of changes, stopping and starting as I went along, but I did it faultlessly, standing back after I had finished almost like a proud contestant on The Krypton Factor who had solved a particular tricky puzzle.
Perhaps I’ll even have one of those makeshift scoreboards that they do it Top Gear in the ‘star in a reasonably priced car’ segment, more Top Rear perhaps, where I write my top changing times down, perhaps even accounting to contributory factors like they do, as to whether it is wet or dry, although I’m not referring to the weather like they are!
I’m sure my state of wonder surrounding the changing of soiled items will cease soon enough, I’d have scoffed at anyone who’d have told me a few days ago that it would ever have even existed, I’ll enjoy it whilst it lasts. At least I’ll get plenty of practice.