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Wednesday, September 12, 2012

I can change

I've never understood the whole concept of a change table. It's always looked like nothing more than a huge waste of money and space to me.

Until tonight.

Tonight, seven kids in, I learned why someone might consider buying a change table.

Let me say it's not for convenience. You know what's convenient when your baby has pooed? The bed. Or the lounge. Or the floor. I don't want to have to run through the house to the designated poo spot. I'll change the nappy wherever I am when I find it. Well, assuming I can't pretend I haven't smelt it and can let Tracey discover it for herself. I've changed babies in car seats, on bonnets, in prams, in shopping trolleys. I really don't care - the nappy needs changing I change it. In lieu of a flat surface I've even changed a dirty nappy while Tracey's dangled the baby in her hands.

So it's not convenience which has changed my mind.

It's also not so we have all the baby creams and powders in the one spot. I can't think of a worse idea. I mean, I change more nappies on the floor in front of the telly than anywhere else so I don't miss a plot point. We have nappy wipes, and piles of nappies for that matter, in a number of drawers and bags around the house.

But tonight I was changing young Miss0 on our bed (Tracey's side of course, just in case she backfired) and suddenly the good sense of a change table became clear to me. You see, change tables are a lot higher than beds - an excellent feature if you're worried about your back. My back is always something I'm keen to protect.

But that's not it.

The reason I'm considering changing my mind on the benefits of a change table is if she'd been on a change table earlier tonight instead of our bed Miss0 wouldn't have been able to kick me in the nuts like a mule.

Yep, while I lay on the floor catching my breathe I decided a change table would have made all the difference.

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Kez said...

Hmm, I am not so sure, Bruce. I get kicked in the boobal region daily while using the change table. Although, I realise you are actually a man, it is something to think about.

Bruce Devereaux said...

Sadly, as my youngest son likes to point out to me, I have manboobs. Looks like I'm destined to be kicked in tender places.

About Me

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Bruce Devereaux is one of the nicest people he knows. When not at work he enjoys reading, writing, hiding from his children and not changing nappies.


His career, and if we used the term any more loosely an e might fall out, has included a gardener, a personal lender, a console operator, a stop/go man (not as big a bludge as you might think but great if you’re into sunburn, abuse and varicose veins), a cleaner of banks and pubs and, for a very brief period, a door to door salesman (until the last door he knocked on was answered by a very scary woman with tremendously hairy legs).


Bruce Devereaux currently works as a forty-five-year-old award winning customer service officer (glass statuette available upon request) for the Bank of Queensland and as a very casual employee for Corrective Services. He likes to believe he excels at both but then he has always been prone to exaggeration.


His favourite colour is green, with a picture of Dame Nellie Melba on one side and General Sir John Monash on the other. His favourite flower is self-raising.

 If you see him around town, call his wife immediately - he's probably snuck out and left her alone with all the kids.


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