By now you will most likely have seen the video that is doing the rounds on Facebook of the dad retching whilst changing his baby’s nappy. I’m purposefully not sharing the video here to illustrate because, quite frankly, it has really annoyed me.
If you’re part of the select group not to have come across this clip yet, usually shared by one of those accounts that rips off others’ content and just scrawls “Utter ledge!!111!11!!” at the top, then all you need to know is a bloke filmed himself tending to the infant, continuously gagging at the sight and smell of the soiled nappy. And that’s it. Seriously.
I know that a lot of people think it’s hilarious and that I’m in danger of bearing the brunt of all of those glib “oh just lighten up” comments, but I just don’t find it funny. No one likes poo, mate – well, actually, some people do, but that’s really not relevant here – there is literally no one who has ever been hit in the nostril by that familiar whiff and thought, “oh goody, here’s my time to shine.” You just get on with it because it happens every day, often on more than one occasion. A baby’s poo quickly drops well away from the list of occurrences that are worthy of note.
The fact that he chose to film himself carrying out this most mundane of all tasks suggests that changing his far-from-newborn child is a novelty, as does the extravagant reaction that would have even Cristiano Ronaldo advising him to take it down a notch or two. Who was the video initially intended for? Why would you want your partner, family, friends and the internet in general to know you were such a big baby about things?
Also, what has he achieved, other than to provide an open goal for those who insist that dads are somehow second class parents who should leave the dirty jobs to mum? He’s merely strengthened my far-from-controversial point of view that watching a burly bloke gag for three minutes is really not that enjoyable a watch. He’ll struggle to make an impact if he takes that act on Britain’s Got Talent, of that I’m fairly certain.
He should think himself lucky that it was just a run-of-the-mill dirty nappy, too. This week, for the first time in all her 21 months, Elsa caused a bath time panic. She was standing up and we were attacking each other with bubbles, as is fairly standard, when suddenly I heard the unmistakable ‘plopping’ noise of what shall now be deemed a ‘Code Brown’ situation. If the bloke in the video reacts like he does to a routine change, the bath poo would have instigated a full-on Scanners-style head explosion.
Elsa is now beginning to understand that poo probably isn’t meant to intermingle with the squirty turtles and flashing fish toys that usually frequent the tub, and that means that dealing with the situation drew on all my reserves of zen and calmness. Any sense of alarm and anxiety had to be quelled so as not to leave her with any kind of complex in the future, even though – and I’m sure I mentioned this earlier – SHE HAD CLEARLY DONE A POO IN THE BATH! A POO! IN THE BATH!
Thankfully for the man in the video’s little girl, she is far too young to be made to feel embarrassed about the contents of her nappy and, more importantly, how much of a gigantic wuss her dad is. However, I’m pleased to see that, throughout the whole ordeal, she manages to look as unimpressed with him as I am.