It’s a drag: Papa needs a new diaper bag
Diary of a Dad Housewife
Paul Engleman
Chicago Sun-Times | January 29, 1997
There comes a time in every dad's career when he has to stand before the mirror, look himself straight in the eye and ask: "What kind of diaper bag looks good on me?”
All sexism aside, the range of available styles makes this essentially a guy kind of dilemma.
When outfitted in Pooh bears, women just look naturally less ridiculous than men.
In matters of fashion, I've always leaned toward function over style.
When your first set of good duds is a school uniform festooned with Immaculate Heart of Mary patches, it's easy to go that route.
Lacking common fashion sense, I've adapted by adopting a posture of nonchalance: If it looks like you haven't spent more than a moment's thought on it, people probably won't hold it against you.
Applied to diaper bag selection, this translates to: The cheaper, the better. Which is why, for the first six months of our first child's life, I was perfectly content with the freebie shiny vinyl bag that came from one of the first marketing sharks that tried to sink their teeth into us. It might have been provided by our health care provider, or maybe the folks at 800-I-LAMAZE.
But these bags do not withstand the rigors of baby-needs transport for long.
They should carry a product warning: "Straps will break if cargo exceeds dry-weight equivalent of 16 fluid ounces."
Plus there is the issue of how low your wife is willing to let you go. You may not care how pathetic you look, but those are, after all, her kids with you.
Fortunately, we had accumulated quite a collection. When the generic fuzzy zoo animals model gave out, I thought I'd move right along to the one with the vaguely farmlike critters.
My wife had another idea. She went shopping for one.
Knowing how perverse I am, she steered clear of all bags with designer logos or special features.
Still, with each one she brought home, she got the same response:
"Nope, too stylish."
When her capacity for exasperation was fully exhausted, I went shopping for one myself.
But it was hard to find a bag chintzy enough to look like I hadn't given it any thought. On the second day, at the third store, I realized I was giving it more thought than any purchase I'd ever made.
This made it difficult to maintain my posture of indifference, no matter how much slouching was required.
I decided it was time to give in and find the bag that was just right for me.
Most fathers I know have found a sensible solution in the backpack. But the backpack and I have never been a good fit, not even in the '60s.
Announcing a whole new shift in attitude, I managed to beg my wife's indulgence one last time.
She found a green paisley cloth model that some might call sporty, even if I wouldn't.
"It was on clearance," she said. "Half off."
In my mind, that made it a little sportier.
It took some getting used to, but I've gotten to the point where I can now carry a diaper bag with my head held high.
I feel almost like a new mom. It may be my imagination, but I sense people looking at me with more respect.
In fact, I wouldn't be at all surprised if someone approaches me in the produce aisle and says,"Hey, nice diaper bag."
If the truth be told, I'm almost expecting it.
Copyright 1997 Chicago Sun-Times, Inc.