The OODD guide to The Dad Body.

So, it’s happened, you’re a dad.

Congratulations.

Yet, as the euphoria fades and the reality of day to day life with children settles, it’s likely that you’ve had some concerns about your body. Perhaps you’ve noticed that it’s changed a little of late? Maybe you’re not the athlete you once were? Have you discovered hair in places you never dreamed of?

Don’t worry, it’s all perfectly normal.

Like a fat caterpillar transitioning into a glorious flamboyant butterfly, your pre-children physique has transformed into something completely different:

The Dad Body!

Here’s your handy Out Of Depth Dad guide to the new body that you’re currently residing within.

1: Things change

Nothing (with the possible exception of any episode of ITV1’s Loose Women)  goes on forever. It’s the same with your body. You may have thought you’d be that Brad Pitt look-alike until your dying day, but sadly that’s not going to happen. In fact, if you take a long hard look in the mirror you’ll now see that you look more like Brad Pitt ON his dying day. Something has happened to your body – it’s wilted quicker than a bag of supermarket salad.

‘How did this happen?’ I hear you cry!

Simply put becoming a dad unlocks a special part of your brain that encourages you to let your body go to crap.

It’s a tale as old as time.

2: People see things differently. 

So how did you not notice the sudden arrival of The Dad Body? Frankly, you were too tired to even care. Looking after a baby is one long cycle of pooey nappies, feeds and secretly eating entire cans of Pringles in one sitting when you think nobody is looking. The strange thing is, Mother Nature (in her infinite wisdom) decided to put dads in denial about The Dad Body until it was far too late to do anything about it – anything easy, that didn’t require getting up from the sofa, at least!

So, for all those months you’ve been holding your kid and seeing yourself as an Athena model when you look in the mirror, you’ve actually been in denial about looking more like Eric Pickles’ kid brother.

Don’t worry, it’s not your fault. Nature and the purveyors of a whole array of delicious salty snacks were scheming against you. What were you to do?

3: You can only suck your tummy in for so long…

At some point every recipient of The Dad Body must bite the bullet and embrace their new physique. You need to learn to love the new, more capacious, you. It’s hard to suck your tummy in, 24 hours a day, for months at a time. So the time finally comes when you must let your tummy out*.

Do it. You owe it to yourself.

*Be sure not to do this in a confined area – as people may be injured by the ricochet effect your newly unleashed gut has as it lurches for freedom.

4: Budgie Smugglers

Traditionally, new recipients of The Dad Body go through ‘Rites of Passage’. Once the dad gut is released, and you’re no longer able to see your toes, fathers the world over invest in one item of clothing – tiny swimming trunks.

We’re not entirely sure what attracts recent Dad Body converts to the tiniest shorts known to humanity. Some say that the part of the brain that traditionally guides taste and embarrassment is short-circuited when the male passes into The Dad Body phase. Whatever the truth is, it’s important that all dads find themselves a pair of budgie smugglers. Especially tiny pairs of trunks are available for especially chunky dads with nothing to write home about in the downstairs department. Perhaps consult your local friendly sports’ retailer to discover which set of trunks suits you least – then buy them.

5: The MAMIL

Of late, a second option, beyond the requisite budgie smugglers, has gone on offer for fully paid up members of The Dad Body club. Many dads are now turning to cycling* to show off their total lack of physique. These Middle Aged Men in Lycra can be spotted up and down the country – occasionally in possession of a bike. So if the Speedo is too much for you, why not consider shoe-horning yourself into a Spandex bodysuit that leaves literally nothing to the imagination. It’s the perfect way to embrace your Dad Body and embarrass the hell out of your kids.

*Note. Don’t worry, actually cycling is an optional extra. Most men in possession of The Dad Body merely put on the kit and drink lattes outside coffee shops.

6: Hair today

As you familiarize yourself with your newly acquired Dad Body, you’ll notice that you now have hair in places you didn’t expect. Hair shoulders, knuckles, ears, noses and ridiculous eyebrows are all part and parcel of entering The Dad Body state. There are two ways to go with these new forest like patches erupting from your body.

i) Most men pretend it’s not happening and focus on finding the perfect pair of swimming trunks.

ii) Some men turn to waxing. This painful method of hair removal requires entering (of all things to strike fear in a man’s heart) ‘A Salon’, where a overly-friendly lady, who believes there’s no such thing as ‘too much makeup’ will agonizingly rip the hair from your skin.

The back wax is most popular for owners of The Dad Body, yet other options are available. Why not consider ‘The Back, Sack and Crack’? I’m told it’s the closest thing to the pain of labour a man can go through – so it may bring you closer to your partner.

7: Exercise

Many will tell you that a thing called ‘Exercise’ is the best way for men to revert back to their pre-Dad Body state. These people are liars! ‘Exercise’ was invented in the 1970s by the government in an effort to thin down the number of people surviving to a pensionable age.

If you must exercise, make sure you get involved in an activity like Golf – essentially a walk and a chat with a particularly heavy bag. Squash is to be avoided at all costs. Any game named after a children’s drink is not a good idea.

8: The exceptions…

You’ll notice that there are a very few men, who don’t develop into The Dad Body stage on having children. Instead they maintain flat stomachs and have muscles. Don’t be confused, these exceptions are the weirdos – not you. These unnatural types inject themselves with unicorn placentas, commune with unholy spirits and do even weirder things like eat vegetables.

If you find yourself having a chat with an exception (he’ll be called ‘Brad’ or ‘Rob’) just nod and smile and get away from him as soon as you can. Be assured, they may have non-dad bodies, but they’re not happy.

***

So there’s my OODD guide to The Dad Body.

I’ll end with a reminder, next time you’re feeling bad about your dad physique remember a wise man once said:

“It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle, than for a man with a Dad Body to walk past McDonalds.”

Give yourself a break – you’re doing great!

Still Sinking…

The Out of Depth Dad

Facebook.com/OutofDepthDad

@Outofdepth_dad

He’s on the move!

It’s so true what they say, the grass is always greener…

For months it seemed the only question* I was being asked was: “Is he crawling yet?”

To which the answer was a firm “No.”

*Technically, this wasn’t the only question I was asked. Additional questions that have been proffered in my direction of late include: “Are you happy with your current broadband provider?”, “Would you like to add a drink for an extra 75p?” and, genuinely, “Can I tell you all about our Lord, Jesus Christ?” For the record, I answered “No” to all of the above. 

Sam’s mum and I spent many hours worrying about his crawling (or lack of it). We did it in that textbook modern parenting not-worrying, worrying way.

“Should we be worried he’s not crawling yet?”

“No. I mean, it’s not a competition.”

“Too true.”

But it is a competition – even if you don’t want it to be. We all silently seethe at the kid (there’s always one) who skipped crawling and is walking already – then again that precocious so-and-so is probably tap dancing, speaking basic French and learning to whip up a convincing bolognese too!

So, you can imagine, we were thrilled when it all clicked and Sam started to crawl in earnest. Boy can he crawl! He’s like the Road Runner is those old cartoons, there really is no stopping him.

Then it sank in. THERE REALLY IS NO STOPPING HIM!

Our joy lasted all of… oh… five seconds as we realized the size of our house has suddenly diminished and we are now sentenced to an interminable period of chasing around after Sam as he launches himself into harm’s way with gleeful abandon.

Wasn’t life so much easier when he wasn’t crawling?

Wasn’t that grass so much greener?

Wasn’t that a lawn far easier to tend?

After a quick Google, it became clear that there was no going back. We couldn’t encourage Sam to be a non-crawler for a bit, to make our lives easier. We were stuck with the situation.

The house, which up to this point had been our oasis, suddenly looked like a giant trap;  filled (Home Alone-style) with dangerous obstacles for our new crawler.

Everywhere I looked were sharp corners, lethal hinges, top-heavy bits of furniture and… and… well you get the idea.

Time and again, I’m drawn back to those David Attenborough documentaries that show how – via nothing more than instinct – the young of other species emerge into the world with a sixth sense for avoiding danger. Mother Nature must really have had a chuckle when, rather than giving human young a street-smart savviness, she decided to turn them into Frank Spencer like klutzes with the ability to find a crisis in any situation.

As a kid, one of my favourite films was Who Framed Roger Rabbit. There’s a scene, at the beginning of the film, shows the hapless Roger trying to look after Baby Herman, who (for comic reasons) dives headfirst into one lethal situation after another. Click here to view. As a child, I thought this was a ridiculous skit created to provoke laughter.  I now realize that I was wrong. The scene is much closer to a public information film, a documentary reenactment of the real life chaos that parents are perennially just moments away from. All it needs is a Michael Burke voice over and the Roger Rabbit sketch could belong in the old TV show 999!

God it’s terrifying. 

Oh and while I remember. How the hell do you change a nappy on a baby that won’t lie still for a more than two seconds? Just when you thought you’ve got the whole nappy thing down, they move the goal posts once again! It’s like trying to change the tyre on a Formula One car as it whizzes by at top speed! I literally don’t have enough limbs to hold Sam still, clean him and apply a new nappy. It’s impossible!!!

As you might already have guessed, my focus has now moved onto fantasizing about new and much greener grass – when Sam can walk.

Things will be so much easier then…

Who am I kidding?

 

Still Sinking…

The Out of Depth Dad

Facebook.com/OutofDepthDad

@Outofdepth_dad

 

 

 

The News At One

So Sam just turned one.

ONE!

No, I can’t believe it either. He’s an entire year old. That’s 12 months of nappies, no sleep, naps and nasty niffs.

We made it!

When Sam was born, friends kept saying to me that the first year was the hardest. I reminded them of this during the birthday celebrations, and was told that year three was much tougher.

Thanks guys, talk about moving the goalposts!

Who knows what’s true? All I know is we managed to take our son on a complete rotation around the sun without doing anything monumentally stupid (well not much).

Here’s my highlights of the first year, I’m sorry I don’t remember when any of these things happened (my mind is a sieve) other than they all took place in the last 365 days…

1:

The first smile.

As Sam was a premature baby this arrived a little later than many might expect. But when it came, seriously, it made my millennium. I’ve a theory that nature withholds the nicer moments of a baby’s development until they’re really needed. For Sam’s mum and I, we were exhausted and emotional after months of hard work, pushed to breaking, then like an oasis on the horizon, he flashed us a smile. A proper smile, not wind. I’ll take that moment with me to my grave.

I knew there and then that I’d do anything for that little boy.

2:

Sharing a joke. 

Humour is hugely important to me. I bond with those I love through laughter. Generating peals of giggles is one of the most pleasurable things I think any of us can do. So when Sam and I shared our first joke it was magical. It wasn’t that funny really, what happened. I put a pair of his trousers on my head and he laughed, but to me it was pure unadulterated joy. To hear that laugh for the first time was blissful. Sam can’t talk yet, but we communicated through laughter at a very deep level. In an instant I forgot about the sleepless nights.

3:

Poo up the wall

I know this sounds like a negative rather than a positive – but for me it was a highlight of the year. I was changing a nappy and I mistimed it somehow and… well… an explosive poo splattered all over the nursery wall. It’s the type of thing where you just have to laugh at the absurdity of it all. But why was it a highlight? For some reason, when this happened, I felt like I’d been properly inducted into the guild of parenthood. I’d heard, throughout the pregnancy, all these horror stories of scatological incidents that occur with babies. Now at last I had my own, I was part of the funny anecdote club. I had a great story to embarrass Sam with when he was 30.

I wouldn’t want to have to clean massive amounts of poo off wallpaper, furniture, skirting board and carpet every day – but this one incident was a time I’ll remember for the funny side.

4

A shoulder to cry on…

For most of Sam’s year, his mum was exclusively the person he wanted when upset. That was fine with me, I was eager that Sam’s mum and he bonded, even if that meant I was relegated in the relationship to a fetcher and carrier role. That’s the way (in my mind) it should be, babies go first response is go to their mother for comfort.

In the last few months however, I’ve been allowed by Sam to act as a stand in. Don’t get me wrong, I am very much the substitute teacher of comforting cuddles, but even so, it would seem that daddy has the ability to make it all better.

This is a great, hugely rewarding, responsibility that I cherish.

 

I loved the little party we had for Sam to celebrate his first birthday and (although he had no idea what was going on) he loved all the attention. In fact, I enjoyed the whole birthday thing so much that I’ve decided we should do it all again next year!

Still Sinking…

The Out of Depth Dad

@Outofdepth_dad

www.facebook.com/OutofDepthDad/

 

 

5 Things I Didn’t Expect From Fatherhood…

I’m the first to admit that I was quite naive going into this whole ‘parenting thing’.

I really was.

I genuinely thought my days would be just as they were before, with a few nappy changes and the occasional bottle feed.

How dumb was I?

The answer is pretty dumb – almost Donald Trump levels of stupidity.

Thankfully I’m a quick learner. I can now change nappies with my eyes closed – not to show off, I just find I have to look at much less poo that way. All in all, I genuinely feel like some days I’m getting into the swing of this whole parenting thing. Some days. That said, there are still somethings that I do, on a daily basis, that surprise me. Moments that are a little odd, that nobody warned me about.

Here are my 5 Things I Didn’t Expect From Fatherhood:

1: I pick my son’s nose most days. 

There, I said it.

Babies, all babies, are snotty creatures. Sometimes it feels like producing snot is their actual job. Sam, like so many of his peers, produces bogies at a prodigious rate. I mean, if snot were gold we’d be millionaires.

You know that feeling you get, the slightly awkward one, where you’re talking to someone and they (unknowingly) have a bogie hanging from their nose? You don’t mention it at first, not wanting to be rude, but then you reach a point when you can’t mention it – as it’s been too long. The snot draws you in like a tractor-beam; soon you’re not hearing what they’re saying, instead you’re looking at the unwanted appendage swinging in the breeze. Well that feeling drives me nuts, and Sam’s face seldom isn’t home to (at least) a bogie or two.

With small babies (whose noses are two small to pick) there are these little vacuum pumps that you insert into your young un’s nostril and squeeze – in an attempt to dislodge the accumulated goo.  These devices are about as useful as… as… something not very useful at all. There are other bits of kit that allow you to siphon snot from your kid’s nose by inserting a tube in there and sucking on the other end. I’m sorry, but that was never going to happen.

So you can imagine my glee when Sam’s nose became large enough to pick. God there’s a sentence I never thought I’d write. Anyway, in order to keep him – relatively – snot free a good nose-picking is what I give him. The joys of fatherhood.

2: Work is ‘time off’. 

I do childcare for Sam three working days a week – he’s in nursery for the rest. My days with him are glorious, but tiring.

Oh, so tiring.

Sometimes I feel like I’m spinning plates, running around trying to do ten things simultaneously: play games, wash bottles, find toys, prep lunch – growing ever more exhausted until the plates start dropping.  These days I drop so many (metaphorical) plates the (metaphorical) floor looks like it belongs in a (metaphorical) Greek restaurant.

So my days doing work, which used to be the low-point of my week (although they were the majority of it), now feel like a period of relaxation. All I need to do is sit down and get things done, with nobody to worry about but myself. They feel luxurious.

There’s an old cartoon Click here where we see a sheep dog and Wile E. Coyote spending the day protecting and hunting sheep (respectively) – the gag is that both see this activity merely as ‘work’. Handing over Sam at nursery feels like the moment here where they both punch out of work and calm descends. It’s a great feeling. That said, I do miss the little fella during the day.

3: I’ve become competitive.

I’ve become strangely competitive. Which is strange because (generally) I’m not a competitive person. Or perhaps I see the foolishness in misplaced universal competitiveness. I’m not one of those people who feels the need to compete at everything, from ten pin bowling to getting away first from traffic lights. Why waste energy on things that are: i. Unimportant. ii. Physically or mentally draining. iii. Likely to be done better than you by a host of people? I’ve always limited my competitiveness to one or two key areas where I know I have talent, leaving the rest to those who are easily distracted by shiny things.

I have, however, become very competitive on Sam’s behalf. On our daily activities together I find myself silently comparing Sam to the other babies we encounter – always announcing Sam as the victor. Which baby has a nicer laugh? Sam. Which baby has better hair? Sam. Which baby would be most at home rollerskating in an Evian commercial? Sam.

I’m sure this will only get worse at the years roll by. As long as I don’t turn into one of those screaming dads shouting encouragement (read ‘abuse’) at Saturday football (unlikely considering how much I detest the sport) I think this should be manageable.

4: I smell poo everywhere.

Poo is a big part of my life these days (not my own). Sam’s mum and I talk about little else:

“Did he poo this morning?”

“A little.”

“How little’s little?”

“Cadbury’s Creme Egg sized.”

“OK. What colour?”

“Brown.”

“Dark brown or sandy?”

You get the idea.

I’m constantly sniffing the air to see if a nappy needs changing or (God forbid) a leakage has occurred. They say that Queen think the world smells of fresh paint, which must be awful. Wet paint gives me a headache. For me, I’m sure the entire world smells of poo. Why? i. It does. ii. I’m concerned there is an (as yet unfound) poo stain on my person, from a particularly involved nappy change. iii. I have poo tinnitus.

I’m not sure if ‘poo tinnitus’ is a ‘thing’, but if it’s not it should be!

5: Socks will always be with me…

In Star Wars there’s a line ‘The force will be with you, always…’ Click here. Fatherhood has brought me a similar thing, but with socks. “Socks will be with you, always…” Socks to a just-about-one year old are the best thing in the world. They’re right there at the end of your leg, ready to be pulled off, laughed at, shook about and discarded.

My life seems to be one long succession of putting on and picking up socks. Every item of clothing I own has one of Sam’s socks in its pockets, rescued from the floor. Seriously, his socks are everywhere, in my shoes, in my kit bag, behind the TV… I even went through a phase of using them as impromptu book marks.

The only place I rarely find socks is on Sam’s feet. And if that doesn’t sound like something a dad would say, I don’t know what does!

Still Sinking…

The Out of Depth Dad 

@Outofdepth_dad

facebook.com/OutofDepthDad/

Is Postman Pat on a Zero Hours contract?

We need to talk about Pat Clifton, probably better known as ‘Postman Pat’.

Everybody knows his bright red van, black and white cat and ‘happy man’ persona. But despite Mr Clifton being such a familiar (strangely un-aging) face to so many of us, I’ve got the feeling that there’s a story just below the surface that nobody’s talking about.

For the last 30-odd years Postman Pat has been delivering mail, with the aid of his cat ‘Jess’, to the people of Greendale (and surrounding districts). A genial fellow, Pat has never been what anyone would consider the ‘perfect postman’ – or perhaps we should say ‘post person’?

Pat has the habit of, well, mislaying the very items he’s supposed to be responsible for. A strong and stable pair of hands he is not! This truth was apparent even in the earliest part of his career, when Clifton worked under the direct supervision of postmistress Mrs Goggins. The affable pensioner always seemed to look the other way as Pat, instead of delivering the large quantities of mail he was tasked with,  would spend an entire day chasing a single letter he’d mislaid. Many would say that it’s to her credit that Mrs Goggins saw Clifton’s benefit to the community, as a slightly hopeless helper, outweighed any true ability he had as a deliverer of mail.

Times sadly have changed and I’m now worried about Pat. He no longer works for Mrs Goggins, his role is now under the supervision of the privatized ‘Special Delivery Service’, which I’m convinced has him on a zero hours contract.

It’s a well known story of a new company coming into a previously public sector enterprise and squeezing existing employees. The ‘Special Delivery Service’ seems happy to invest in equipment – they’ve automated conveyor belts that must spend half of their time empty considering the tiny amount of post Greendale receives. They’ve also bought a helicopter, dune buggy, snow mobile and all manner of post vans.

But have they invested in Pat?

I think not.

Clifton is clearly on a zero hour contract, with no hope of career-progressing training.

Why do I think this?

1: Pat is always on duty. No matter what he’s doing, any day of the week, Clifton can receive a phone call from the Special Delivery Service and is expected to get to work straight away. Birthdays, outings and school plays have all been ruined by Pat’s un-defined working routine.  The strain this constant state of uncertainty is having on his wife Sarah and son Julian is clear for all to see.

2: Pat never takes his uniform off, nor has the uniform been updated. It’s my suspicion that he wears it all the time to save money on clothing. Pat deserves better than that!

3: Pat drags out deliveries for much longer than necessary. He seems to literally go all around the houses, getting into bother, rather than just delivering the items he is given. I’m concerned Pat is trying to up his hours (and income) by unnecessarily prolonging his work.

4:Pat’s mobile. It’s an old Nokia, clearly he’s not financially solvent enough to be considered for a smartphone contract.

We can only hope that things improve for Pat in the near future. A career in the postal service, a role that became such a big part of his identity, should have treated him better.

 

P.S.

I’m slightly worried I’ve been watching too much kids’ TV!

Still Sinking…

The Out of Depth Dad

@Outofdepth_dad

www.facebook.com/OutofDepthDad

Going up in smoke…

People are going to hate me for this.

Seriously. 

But, to be frank, I don’t care. I mean what the hell is going on?

IT’S RIDICULOUS!

What am I talking about?

People smoking around children that’s what! It gets me so annoyed!!!

OK, so I’ll lay my cards on the table. I’m a non-smoker. Never have, never will. Never even been tempted. I figure that if I wanted to ingest serious amounts of carcinogens, there are much cheaper ways of doing it – like sucking on an exhaust pipe.

So, from the outset, you know I’m not part of the pro-smoking lobby. My mum died of smoking related cancer, and frankly I think it’s a horrible habit.

Still reading?

There is, I understand, an argument that people should be able to do whatever they like to their own body, thank-you-very-much. I get that. So if you want to ingest crap, 40 times a day, then that really is your funeral (literally). Good luck to you.

What annoys me, is the people I see doing this around kids. Often, and this is really what amazes me, their own kids!

I’ve tried and I really can’t see how people process this as if it’s an acceptable thing. I can understand the argument of: “It’s only me that suffers” that people give about smoking by themselves. It’s a stupid argument, because frankly nobody, not even Jeremy Dyson, lives in a vacuum. Screwing over your body is going to have effects on your family & friends, not to mention putting pressure on the NHS (if you’re reading this in the UK).

What I can’t understand is the idea of “Oh, it’ll only screw over my kids a little bit, by making them inhale my noxious cigarette smoke.” That, I don’t get.

As parents, don’t we just want the best for our kids? I mean, isn’t making sure they’re OK, and have the most promising start in life our entire role? Isn’t that it? Isn’t that ‘parenting’? Correct me if I’m wrong? So why would anyone go: “I want the best for my son, but I’m going to cloud him in cancerous gases because, frankly, I have no willpower”?

I told you some people weren’t going to like this.

It seems to me to have got worse lately. Since the smoking ban (which it won’t surprise you to hear, I love) smokers now linger outside pubs and cafes – which is traditionally where children are too. Here we find people frantically chain-smoking, a bit like deep sea divers filling their lungs before a long period of oxygen abstinence.

In the midst of these huddles of asthma inhaler-bearing inhalers we find kids, slowly turning into human kippers. Why would anyone do that to their own child? In an age where some parents what to find out the entire family history of any chicken nugget before they’ll allow their precious one to snack on it, why would these parents say: “Fuck it, you gotta die of something?”

The other day I was on a park bench, with Sam my son, when a man sat down next to me and lit-up. I asked if he could put it out or sit somewhere else.

“We’re outside!” he said, in a tone of ‘How stupid is this person?’.

“I’m aware of that,” I replied, attempting to stay calm, “I just don’t want my baby breathing that in.”

He tutted at me, then carried on smoking – with an air of ‘What are you going to do about it?’

I think ‘Going Postal’ is the term Americans use, when people lose the plot and majorly go off the rails.

I considered this for a moment…

… then chose another bench.

You see, I decided that not succumbing to an urge of the moment and acting in a negative manner (taking this man’s tobacco and shoving it forcibly where the sun doesn’t shine), was a better outcome for my son.

Perhaps there’s some parallel with smoking here?

Thanks for listening. I’m off to quietly fume somewhere*.

*NB:Please note the difference between ‘fuming’ and ‘giving off fumes’.

Still Sinking. 

The Out of Depth Dad. 

@Outofdepth_dad

Facebook.com/OutofDepthDad

 

What have wet wipes ever done for us?

Wet wipes, I’ve got drawer after drawer of the bloody things.

You can’t open a cupboard, unzip a bag or even clean down the back of the sofa (not something I do often) in our house without being hit by an avalanche of moist towelettes.

But, at the end of the day, what have wet wipes ever done for me?

Nothing. That’s what!

Except making changing nappies considerably easier than using toilet paper or cotton wool. We had to use cotton wool when Sam was in hospital, it was a nightmare – bits of fluff getting everywhere. It didn’t so much collect ‘matter’, more just move it around.

OK. So apart from making changing nappies considerably easier, what have wet wipes ever done for me?

Thinking about it, they’re pretty good at cleaning up sick too! They don’t dissolve into porridge-like goo in the same way kitchen roll can. Wet wipes are really good at holding onto chunks of matter that might be found in said regurgitation.

OK, OK. Moving on…

So apart from making changing nappies considerably easier and being pretty good at cleaning up sick, what exactly have wet wipes ever done for me?

Oh yes. They’re great at getting rid of snotty noses. Especially when the bogies are dried on and have the consistency of toughened concrete. Wet wipes remove snot much more effectively than the old spit and hankie technique my mum used to prefer.

OK. OK. That’s all well and good. But apart from making changing nappies considerably easier, being pretty good at cleaning up sick and great at getting rid of snotty noses, what exactly have wet wipes ever done for me?

*Wet wipes cleaned my glasses nicely after Sam decided he wanted to rub them with Ella’s Kitchen covered mits – not ideal if you’re just heading off to a driving lesson and aren’t allowed behind the wheel without eye-wear.

*They also provide a great distraction during nappy changes. I hand an unopened packet to Sam and it keeps him occupied while I get on with the messy business. In fact, wet wipes’ packets, with their crackling sounds, are treated by my son as if they are the world’s greatest toy. Nothing makes him happier, other than (perhaps) a sock that’s been newly liberated from his foot.

*They were great at removing all traces of chicken tikka masala from a new pair of brogues, when I slipped on a squeaky pig and sent my dinner flying.

*Wet wipes were also great at providing a substitute for a shower when I arrived late (long story) – sweating heavily – for an interview with a minor celebrity. The wipes were pleasingly refreshing , in fact they should write that on the packet!

*Wet wipes were also a great way of cleaning milk formula off my iPhone, when a certain baby knocked over an entire container of the powder – causing a mini snowdrift! Note: I wouldn’t recommend doing this, it probably invalidated the warranty.

*Four packets of wet wipes also provided effective ballast, preventing a picnic blanket Sam and I were sat upon from taking off, during a sudden windy period. We’ve had a lot of sudden windy periods since he started weaning…

But apart from making nappy changes considerably easier, being pretty good at cleaning up sick,  great at getting rid of snotty noses, polishing my spectacles, providing distraction during nappy changes, removing traces of chicken tikka masala from new brogues, giving a refreshing shower substitute, cleaning formula off my phone and providing effective ballast at picnics… wet wipes have never done anything for me!

At all!

Thank God for wet wipes.

I’m sure you agree!

Still sinking…

The Out of Depth Dad.

@Outofdepth_dad

www.facebook.com/OutofDepthDad/

BTW, take a look at this: Monty Python’s Roman’s sketch.