When I was pregnant, I had no idea of the many varieties and brands of baby change bags available. I naively assumed I could just chuck a nappy or two into my current handbag and that would be that.

Oh how wrong I was.

It wasn’t until my mother in law insisted on buying me a change bag to match our green buggy that my eyes started to open. But again, the idea of buying a bag specifically for nappies seemed a little pointless.

Then, when Frog was born and I eventually started venturing out to mother and baby groups with her, I started to notice an array of nappy baby change bags on offer. The posh mums had a Pacapod or Storksak. These were the ultimate in baby change bags. The Landrover of the changing rooms. They were a status symbol.

I still wasn’t interested though. They were out of my price range and – to be honest – I would rather have spent that kind of money on a term of swimming lessons or towards a holiday.

Fast-forward nearly two years and my attitude towards change bags has, well, changed (no pun intended).

With a daughter approaching two years old and a life that means I rush from work in a radio station (where the women are all impeccably glamorous) to toddler groups (where jeans and milk stained t’shirts are the norm) I needed a new bag. A bag that didn’t look like a baby change bag but still did the job.

And because my child probably (hopefully) won’t be in nappies forever more, I was willing to spend a little more on a bag that would still be usable once its main contents weren’t nappies and wipes.

So I looked. I looked for ages and ages and ages. Eventually I found a few different varieties of bags that caught my eye. But the one I really liked didn’t yet exist in the UK. And I wasn’t prepared to pay shipping costs from Australia.

It was with pure delight, then, when I received this beautiful package from a PR company:

Unbelievably, this is a baby change bag.

It is big enough to fit a whole pack of nappies in, a pot of snacks (it even has a pot with it), bottle, change mat (again, comes with it), with plenty of room left over for a diary, wallet, phone, keys, teddies and magic blanket.

It’s a Hendrix Wedge bag from Vanchi, the market leaders in baby change bags in Australia.

And I LOVE it.

It’s unlike any other baby change bag I’ve ever come across. It doesn’t look like a baby change bag. It just looks like a bag. A bloody cool one at that. One I’d be happy to take out for a drink at the pub or an afternoon shopping, minus my child (not that it happens very often).

Made with a leather outer and practical waterproof lining, this bag is something Mary Poppins would covet.

It has multiple interior pockets galore, an external zip pocket, two side pockets and a removable strap if you want to drape it over your buggy handlebars. It also has metal feet to protect it from getting scuffed when it’s inevitably thrown on the floor to deal with a tantrum situation.

And you know the best thing about this Vanchi bag? It’s now available to buy in the UK, along with four other cool styles.

Yes, they’re not the cheapest (the Hendrix Wedge retails for £99.99) but they’re beautiful quality and a percentage of all products sold goes directly towards Child Rescue, a division of the charity World Vision.

Plus, did I tell you how pretty it is?

Now please excuse me while I go off to stroke my new love interest.

***

Disclosure: This is a review post, all views and words are my own. I was sent a sample bag for the purpose of this review.

The post I’ve found love appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

No, really, it stinks.

There’s nothing quite like being woken at 2am to change a nappy that smells like something concocted by a mad scientist with a penchant for experiments created out of dustbins and sick. Yum.

It’s been a week now. At first we thought it was the teeth. “It’s those bloody teeth again,” I told the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine knowingly. Then, when a tooth failed to appear, I blamed the water in Rochdale. “It’s this water, it’s different from the Southern stuff she’s used to,” I pronounced, equally as knowingly.

Then it was something she ate. Then it was back to the teeth. Then, after a fifth day of guessing – by which time I’d been struck down too – I had to accept that, sometimes, Mother’s not always right. Sometimes it’s the doctor who knows best. So off I dutifully trudged, stinky baby in tow, to the GP.

And, of course, as soon as we got there Frog perked up. She was commando-crawling, clapping, blowing raspberries and pretty much doing everything she could to put on a good show, except for a tap-dance. She’s yet to learn that trick yet, lazy baby.

I explained that we’d both been poorly. The doctor looked disbelievingly at my almost-tap-dancing child and sent us home with some rehydration sachets and a diagnosis.

The “medicine” is all well and good, but it was the diagnosis I most appreciated. Finally, no more guessing. My options were running out and the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine was starting to get more and more doubtful of my increasingly outlandish attempts to explain away those stinking nappies. “It’s because you took her swimming and let her swallow the water,” I’d yelled at him the day before. “And then you gave her a banana, everyone knows bananas are bad.”

Finally no more need to prove I am the All Knowing One, so in tune with her daughter’s body she merely has to look at her before announcing the problem.

Phew.

My options were running out. Next on my list was Delhi Belly and considering Frog’s never actually been to India I’m aware this may have been clutching at straws.

So a virus it is. But between you and me, those teeth aren’t completely off the hook. Let me have some diagnosis glory at least?

Get well soon Frog.

She's ill. Honest.

The post The day the virus came to stay appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

But this week has seen dramatics taken to a new height, with the terrifying and almost impossible task of packing for our first family holiday.

I used to quite enjoy packing for holidays. It was a leisurely and relaxing activity, part of the build-up to the holiday itself. I’d write lists with sub-headings like “Toiletries” and “Swimwear” (I agree, far too much time on my hands). I carefully browsed the shops to find the perfect new bikini. I took my time painting my nails and making sure there were no unruly stragglers in the bikini line area. My legs were shaved and moisterised and I had at least three new outfits for the trip. I even plucked my hairy toes. Yes, it’s fair to say the pre-holiday experience was a pleasant one.

And then I had a baby.

I have been packing for a week. Yes, a full week. I’ve written a notebook full of lists. I’ve packed and then unpacked and then packed again. I’ve decided to take nappies, changed my mind in an attempt to slim-line the luggage, then changed my mind again. I’ve packed a bag of toys for the plane, panicked and added more, then chucked them all on the floor to make my choices from scratch.

What if she doesn’t like those toys? What if it’s cold and she doesn’t have enough clothes? What if it’s hot and she doesn’t like the choice of four hats I’ve taken? What if she gets hungry at the airport? What if two magic blankets aren’t enough? What about milk? What about books? What about sheets? Towels? Nappies? Should I take more nappies? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!

Last night saw the culmination of my huge over-packing efforts. I collapsed in a heap on the floor wailing “I just can’t do it anymore. I’ve got more responsibility than the Prime Minister!”

Needless to say, the (self proclaimed) Northern Love Machine laughed at me and told me to get a grip.

But I still haven’t finished. This bloody packing lark is taking longer than my university dissertation and a heck of a lot more research. I haven’t even started on my own clothes yet. And don’t even ask about the bikini line area. Or the hairy toes.

So on that note I’m going to go and attempt some kind of conclusion to my packing nightmare. I realise I’ve turned this into a far more complicated activity than it ever needed to be. But if I could just make up my mind about those damn nappies…

See you all in two weeks, when you can hear all about the unpacking at the other end. Bet you can’t wait.

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