There are two types of parents in this world--the kind that scamper home any time their little bundle of joy fills its britches so that they may change the diaper in a private and sanitary environment, or the kind that couldn’t give a crap and simply put a lot of blind faith into baby wipes and hoping a strong wind doesn’t blow at the wrong moment. Be it an intrepid nature or my third floor walk up, I‘m finding I fall into the latter category.

It’s almost become a sort of sport to me. Like a NASCAR crew chief, I keep a mental stopwatch every time we change it out and analyze ways to optimize my pit strategy. Before going under the hood I have everything laid out within reach, thus avoiding any foraging through the diaper bag while sonny boy is left waving in the wind. Last thing you want to do leave the boy’s undercarriage exposed to the elements or an overzealous seagull. So far my personal best is pants down to pants up in a mere 23 seconds. Making it all the more exciting is the fact that my son likes to arch his back and howl like a bobcat throughout the whole procedure, so every second counts.

But given my track record of success, I’ve gotten fairly daring in regards to where I’ll do the deed. Some highlights of my son’s exposure to the world include the top of a bar counter (don’t worry—the bar was closed and I wiped it down vigorously afterwards), the conservative beaches of Spring Lake, New Jersey (a tricky procedure if you consider the combination of wind, sand and ointment) and the hood of a Nissan Micra in the quaintly picturesque town center of Blarney, Ireland (we did a lot for the international perception of the American tourist that day, but if you consider what the locals claim to do to the Blarney Stone at night I’d say it shouldn’t have shocked them too much).

Locally, I have my favorite spots. We usually like to stick to the Hoboken Waterfront, and dependent upon the severity of the incident we normally make it to one of three harbors.

Uptown:
The very end of the Hoboken North Ferry Pier is an ideal spot. It’s relatively less travelled but for the odd jogger or two, and they’re too distracted by their i-Pod to notice a bottomless baby screeching and writhing on the boardwalk. On occasion you’ll get some disgusted looks from some uppity moms from the Tea Building, but that just makes it all the more satisfying. The only downside is the wind, as you’d hate to see an errant arsewipe (or worse) end up in the river.

Midtown:
If you duck behind the skate park on Sinatra Drive, you’ll find perhaps the best spot in town. There are a series of long, concave benches that serve as the perfect changing table. Most park benches are slanted to the rear, so you end up directing most of your efforts towards keeping the wee one from slipping through the crack. But these seats cradle the kid and facilitate the whole procedure. Plus there’s a fair amount of privacy, if you can get over the odd gawking skate rat. Should they get too inquisitive I just ask if they want the used diaper when I’m done, which normally sends them rolling off to the other side of the ramp.

Downtown:
Any of the long, flat marble slabs throughout Pier A are perfect, assuming there isn’t already a homeless guy sleeping on it. I prefer the ones directly behind the hedgerow for relative privacy. The only big concern here is getting gravel in the wrong places, and you can’t be too shy considering the amount of fellow pedestrian traffic you’re bound to encounter.

Have I missed a spot? At risk of turning this into a parental advice column, let me know of any other quiet little nooks in our area that serve the purpose. Or if you just want to brag about how you can change your kid’s diaper in the intersection of 6th and Washington during a red light while texting your wife, that’s cool too. Maybe we can meet up and throw down in some sort of urban parental triathlon. Because what’s the point of being a parent, if not to be in some sort of competition.