Dirty Tactics in the nappy change challenge

I can smell her from across the room. I stretch my neck left, then right. I crack my knuckles. C'mon baby - let the games begin.

Effortlessly, I scoop my child off the floor and into my arms. She's pinned. I hold her tightly and off we go to the changetable. One count, Two count, Three count - she's down!

My hands move momentarily away from her tummy and she seizes the opportunity to free herself. While I reach for the nappy that I will shortly need, Frankie twists sharply to the left. Her legs are now pressed against the wall, and she arches back to grab the stuffed toy behind her. Normal people have mobiles hanging for their children as a pleasant distraction from the changing process, but not my Frankie. She has managed to rip the hook right out of the ceiling, and I've never misjudged her strength again.

I know what she wants, so I give her the toy. I pray that by now my opponent is calm enough for me to go in for the kill - that is, the removal of the soiled nappy.

I hear the velcro rip of the nappy tags as they come apart. I hoist Frankie's legs into the air and hold her ankles. By now, I only have one free hand, as I must manoevre to wipe her wee bottom whilst not letting go of those teeny tiny ankles. I see Frankie grin. If she could, she'd mouth "gotcha", because it takes her only a few twists of her powerful thighs and she's free of me once more. Before I can blink, she is on her tummy having successfully overcome the pathetic sidebar of the changemat.

She kicks her little legs and I move left to right, trying in vain to get in between her bubba-fat-folds. I swipe here, I swipe there, I swipe everywhere that I can manage and (using the if-you-can't-see-it-it-isn't-there argument) trust that I have it all wiped up.

Next comes talc.

I flick Frankie over onto her back and use one hand to liberally sprinkle (OK, pour....) the lavendar scented talc. I drop the bottle to the ground - there is no time to put it onto its appropriate shelf -  and use my newly available hand to pat the talc into her bottom.

By the time she's talced, Frankie is really pissed off. She's smashing her hands repeatedly against her sides - like a drunken version of paper-scizzors-rock, where she seems to have forgotten how to do any gesture other than rock.

I switch to dirty tactics. I squeal like a stuck pig and Frankie is intregued. Deftly, I open the crisp new nappy and fold it underneath her, squealing once again to throw her off the game. She is fascinated: How can that unhuman sound be coming from my mother?\

"Ha!" I shout, as I put my elbow across her knees and fasten the nappy tabs with my free hand. "Done!" I pump my fist with self-congratulation. I feel like running up the 20 steps in my front yard and singing Eye Of The Tiger. She's clean, I DID it! And only another 2 hours before the next one... I better eat my weetabix. I'll need the strength.