It begins with baby pulling a very peculiar strained face, basically saying, “oi, oi, we’ve got movement, what have we got here then? A lovely little niggle happening inside”. Baby suddenly stops what they are doing; they look at you weirdly; an awkward half-smile is seen, strained — this continues on and off for a few minutes.

Daddy knows this could be bad – a meteorite is about to strike.

Prep work begins – daddy places baby in to the cot whilst he searches high and low for baby change items: changing mat (could be anywhere), wipes (should be near the changing mat, but could also be anywhere), nappies (in the nappy sack), nappy bags (should be in with the nappies in the nappy sack). Each item is placed on the bed in a specific order of what is required first.

Baby is placed on changing mat – the smell is obvious, daddy mentally prepares for the worst – a Katrina – or category 5 as I like to call them. Anything below a 5 is a bonus. You hope for the easiest — a cat 1, which is usually a couple of rabbit-esque droppings.

It isn’t.

Baby’s clothes are un-buttoned, daddy slowly begins to peel back the nappy; daddy’s face grimacing with anticipation of what he is about to encounter. Nappy is fully open and low and behold, before your eyes is quite literally the end of the world. It is Armageddon. An apocalypse of the grandest scale. An extinction event. An explosion capable of wiping out an entire planet has happened. The scenes are horrific. Shit everywhere. Absolutely everywhere. Oxygen levels are hampered as daddy breathes in the first wave of toxic fumes. He survives, but only just as he suddenly realises he is in serious trouble: he has not prepared enough wipes for the clean-up operation. Only two are placed near the impact site. The rest are still in the packet across town (more than an arms-length away). He somehow manages to keep baby still, to avoid any chemical spillage; daddy grapples hold of the pack of wipes and immediately reloads with further wipes.

He now has enough ammunition.

Daddy lifts baby’s legs, it is confirmed that a category 5 has occurred. Shit up the back, shit on baby’s clothes; shit on daddy’s clothes; shit on daddy’s fingers. Rubble everywhere. First initial wave of clearing up is complete but there is still a long way to go. Five wipes later and an area the size of Wales has yet to be cleaned. It’s a meticulous operation– one requiring patience, guts, determination and above all else, resilience.

13 wipes later and the shit has been cleaned away. Daddy’s sense of smell has been severely destroyed beyond recognition, as has his general hygiene levels and well-being. Upon taking baby’s vest off, daddy notices remnants of the explosion scattered around the impact zone; he quickly pulls out an emergency wipe to finish the job.

Daddy notices there is now no protection from baby and changing mat, I.e. the changing mat and surrounding areas are open to attack from further shit and potential piss.

Daddy quickly grabs the new nappy, and as he turns to place it under baby, baby has pissed everywhere.

Changing mat has a yellow chemically active puddle running through the centre along with remnants of the previous shit explosion. Baby is having an un-scheduled swimming lesson and is currently doing the back stroke in her own piss.

Daddy runs a bath for baby.

Daddy gets baby cleaned, dressed and then plays baby games with baby downstairs.

The end.

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