Sunday, Monday Nappy Days
So recently Russell Brand came out and said that he doesn’t change nappies because his partner is better at it.
Seriously, mate? Come the f’ on. Get a grip and change a nappy, it’s not rocket science. Sometimes it’s a shitty job (literally) but you do it because your little one is uncomfortable if you don’t.
I assume/hope it’s all a joke, meant to make us all gasp so he fills some column inches for a while, because seriously if he’s not kidding then his child can’t be left alone with him. If they are then that child will be miserable within two hours because they will go to the toilet, that’s just life. They feed, then they fart, burp, wee and poo – sometimes on you.
Now, I’ll admit. When Jess and I were in hospital and Rupert was just a day old we had no idea how to change a nappy, neither of us had ever had any exposure to it.
We looked at each other in shock for about 10 minutes before we gave in and buzzed the midwife in (we were still in hospital of course.) We felt a bit useless but we were assured that we weren’t.
Since then it’s been a bit of a baptism by fire, except instead of fire it’s explosive poo and fountain wee. We just had to learn because Rupert needs us. I can still remember vividly being home from hospital for a few days, when I said to Jess that I would take my turn and change him. I took him in to his bedroom and laid him on the changing mat, took his nappy off, lifted his legs and watched in horror as he shot a shit about two metres across the room. Seriously, it went everywhere!
It went all over his nappy bin and if not for a stray nappy bag it would have gone on the floor. But what can you do in that situation, other than laugh? Well, I called Jess in, if not so she could have a bloody good laugh, and get pictorial evidence for his 18th birthday.
Unfortunately, there isn’t a lot you can learn other than how to put the nappy on. Seriously, that’s the easy part. I can’t count the amount of times I’ve had to hold a wipe in front of his bum while he explosively shat over it and on to my hand.
In fact a great trick of his, which he has yet to try out on Jess, is simultaneously sicking up and pooing, which then leaves me the dilemma of what to deal with first. It’s the worst type of ‘Sophie’s Choice’ you’ve ever seen. I dread to think what Mr B would think of that.
I had a chat to Jess about this today and we agreed that there is nothing that the other one is better at. We both change his bum, we both burp him, we both play with him and we both dress him. The only thing Jess does better than me is breastfeeding. In fact, I’ve full on conceded that one without even trying.
So, any Dad’s reading this, there is no excuse to simply say that your partner is better than you at anything when it comes to looking after your child.
Roll up your sleeves, give it a go and make mistakes – it’s how we all learn.