Life can be cruel, folks. Just a few weeks ago I was road testing electric motorcycles, wind in my chest hair, livin' the dream. Then, in an instant, I became a dad – well, it was an instant for me, the missus might feel differently about it. Either way, here I am, reduced to writing a road test for a diaper bin. But a fine diaper bin it is, and I have resolved to attack this new topic with vigor and passion. Ladies and gentlemen, the nappy sausage machine.

The human infant can perhaps best be viewed as a hollow tube. Milk goes in one end, biohazard waste is extruded out the other. One end makes funny noises, the other makes distressing ones, and your job is to try to remember which end to fill up with chow, and which to put the nappy on – all while battling severe sleep deprivation and trying to look like you know what you're doing in front of your own parents, who gleefully take your every failure as a dose of revenge, served cold.

Nobody really warns you about the sheer quantity of throughput you'll be dealing with. My newborn Max is artlessly ruining at least seven or eight nappies a day, a disproportionate number of those within seconds of putting them on.

Each time, there I stand, one hand defending myself and the furniture from breakaway streams of urine and the other clutching a warm, turdy diaper, holding it out of reach of a hungry labrador who's expressing great interest in a snack.

Eva the dog takes great offense at just about anything we throw out – her classification of what's food is broad and often contentious. She ate the "how to train the perfect puppy" book, for example, along with a Livescribe Sky smart pen, the lino off the laundry floor and a bunch of exposed wiring on my old Kawasaki. She dines regularly on her own feces (handy for yard cleanup, less exciting when she wants kisses), and she yearns more than anything to sample what little Max has been brewing up in that nappy of his.

Max and Eva, our two key protagonists

What I'm getting at is that nappy disposal can definitely be an issue. Ultimately you'd take these foul little gift boxes outside to the bin, but you can't leave the kid on the change table, because their first instinct is to roll off it, bang their head and advertise just how bad a parent you are. Actually, that's their second instinct, close behind their urge to jazz the place up with excretory decorations as soon as the nappy is off.

The Sangenic is a diaper disposal bin that seals in the freshness of each nappy as you go, meaning you can have a nappy bin right next to your change table that's entirely operable using one hand, it doesn't let the smell out, and it can't be opened by dogs.

It comes equipped with a long, plastic, antibacterial liner tube. You plonk the used nappy inside, along with any wipes, then use a little handle to twist the bag off and seal it into an airtight plastic sausage. You then close the lid, which has a plunger thing attached, and it pushes the little baby-butt bratwurst down into its belly. Here's a demonstration, with soothing piano music:

Mine handles about 25 nappies before it needs emptying, and the liner tube refills are supposed to last about a month. Max is only three weeks old at this point, so I can't speak to that.

Eva the labrador has not yet managed to break in to this bin – although I don't doubt her commitment or resolve, and she has a lot of time on her paws, so I don't rule it out as a possibility.

At AU$29 (US$27), it's a bit more expensive than a normal bin, but far from exorbitant. AU$60 (US$56) buys you a pack of six liner tubes, which in theory should last six months, but that depends on the frequency with which your child blurts through nappies.

A gift from my very thoughtful brother, we've dubbed ours "the nappy sausage machine," and it's been a very handy gadget – perfect for the new parent who's already sick of dealing with people's crap.

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