Mother of invention # 9: baby roadie / broadie

I can’t sell you this product til I explain to you the thought processes that led to it.

I spent several weeks strapping my child into a three point harness (instead of a five point one) in the car, because I’m too stupid to thread the belt properly after washing all the fabric bits.

I spent four weeks wondering how the hell to fit the pram in the car, because I didn’t know how to fold the bugger of a thing.

And then there’s solids…

Omg. Solids.

Really. SLAP ME for being annoyed by a baby constantly hanging off my boob. It has nothing on finding bright orange pumpkin on his balls, in his ear, in between his toes, on one eyebrow.

Introduce the baby roadie. Roadies are a fabulous invention for bands. They lug all the gear in, they set it up, they plug in the amps and sort out the pedals, they gaffer tape the cords to the stage, so no one trips, sometimes they sort out everyone’s drugs / drinks, they pronounce the profound, philosophical:

“Check one. One. One. Check one, two. Check one, two.”

So, the baby shopping network proudly presents, (drumroll please), the broadie.

The baby roadie, or broadie, knows how to work the gear. They can fold up the pram, install the car seat, thread the seatbelt, assemble the change table, clip on the toys. The baby roadie goes with you, parents, to your important gigs, and sets you up. Because dealing with a child is one thing, but solving the riddle of baby gear is a whole other mystery.

Mystified by the secret handshake require to disassemble that portacot? Leave it to the broadie. Need to improvise a baby bath out of a storage tub at grandmas? Ask the broadie. Have you nearly broken your toe 1600 times on the bouncer? Your broadie will gaffer it to the floor in a jiffy. Mystery twists in seatbelts? Broadie. Sunshades on every freakin window and still have a baby squinting in full sun in the car? Broadie. Is junior on solids? No problem. The broadie can make a set of nifty handcuffs out of gaffer tape, so that you won’t end up wearing pumpkin purée. Instead, your little angel will be taped to their chair, not “helping”.

No more folding prams and strapping in for you, no no. The broadie’s got your back.

Just don’t let him teach your kid to count.

One, two. One, two. One.



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