How my Pacapod change bag should look
Approximately fifteen months ago, I spent a frankly ridiculous, extraordinarily long trying to decide on a baby changing bag. I genuinely think I spent longer debating and deliberating this decision than we spent debating and deliberating baby names.
It just seemed such a momentous decision at the time. Looking at me, full of indecision, in the baby department of John Lewis, you'd have thought I'd be about to spend my life savings on a designer Chanel handbag, not a wipe-clean, plastic £65 changing bag. What if I got it wrong? Made a bad colour choice? Would the baby hate me?!*
I think I was looking for the changing bag equivalent of an enchanted Mary Poppins bag but instead of a hat stand being magically extracted, a high chair would be plucked out when a little cheerful music hall style ditty is sung.
I've since discovered that due to the volume of baby paraphernalia required each day the changing bag is bursting at the seams as though a small monster created from bibs, nappies and raisins is trying to work its way out. I haven't seen the bottom of the bag since the baby came home from hospital, but I suspect if I did dare delve into its murky depths I'd find a congealed mass of used baby wipes, rotting teething toys and thousands of ruddy raisins. Honestly, a 10p bag for life would do the job.
However, should someone wish to invent a Mary Poppins magical bottomless changing bag, my goodness would they be living off handsome profits, spending the rest of their days lounging on their own private island in the Caribbean eating caviar and quaffing the finest champagne.
Infact, that is how I'm going to make my fortune! Anyone got an application form for Dragon's Den handy?
*Pregnancy hormones were at an all time peak