When I die, I want to change diapers here.

As a kid, I spent family vacations dreaming about a guidebook in which I’d rate men’s rooms on categories such as cleanliness, spaciousness and comfort of toilet seats. Now, as a father, I see things a little differently: I still think The Bathroom Guide would be a fun book to write, but now I think I’d want to focus it almost exclusively on baby-changing facilities.

Naturally, then, I was thrilled to experience the 4^th-floor baby-changing facilities today at Harrods, arguably the most famous department store in the world.

Put simply, it was the most luxurious place in which I have changed R’s diaper. Ever. In her life.

To describe the room as “palatial” would be an understatement. It was like a swanky salon. With a mix of communal changing berths and private changing/nursing rooms. There were armchairs, mirrors and lots of fancy and swirly lights. Also, there were complimentary diapers (in case you forgot your own).

After surveying the scene (and not wanting to intrude upon the mothers nursing their children in some of the private rooms), I opted to change R’s nappy in one of the communal berths. Sensing a messy change was imminent, I opted for a “pad” right next to the garbage pad. When I placed her down, I realized the pad really was an ovular pillow that was softer than the one I use at night.

R immediately acknowledged this was no ordinary changing experience. She looked around, commented about the mirrors, then actually said, “This place nice, Daddy.”

I agreed. I agreed again moments later, when I ran out of wipes and was given extras by an attendant.

When the deed was done, when my baby daughter was at least two pounds lighter, R played quietly on one of the armchairs as I washed my hands with designer soap in a marble sink. On the way out, the aforementioned attendant wished us a good day.

After the awesomeness we had just experienced in the nappy-changing room, how could the day be bad?