I keep getting the theme song from Jaws stuck in my head, usually right when Ezra starts rooting around and opens his mouth and oh my God, he's heading straight for the boob DAA NA DAA NA DAANADAANADAANA.
He's like a shark, these days. A toothless geriatric shark, intent on furiously gumming you to death, shaking his head back and forth and all around while he uses his shark flippers to grab flipperfuls of flesh to twist and dig into with his little shark fingernails because he's inordinately cranky and okay, it's not a perfect metaphor, but still. OW.
Noah's first tooth sprouted about two weeks after we gave up on nursing, so I have to admit that I am sore afraid here. (Chapped afraid! Raw afraid! Chafed afraid!) This is already HELLS ROUGH here, as the kid shrieks and squawks and chomps and protests and rejects every teething ring in the world because, apparently, they are not made of human flesh.
He already recognizes the bottle of Hyland's Teething Tablets and gets overly excited at the sight of it -- OH PRAISE JEBUS FOR WHITE POWDERED RELIEF -- and aaaaaaeeeeeeeiiiiii the drooling and the fussing and the gnawing on everything that he can possibly get into his mouth.
Goodness, but I forgot about this teething business. What else have I blocked out? Was there something that happens where the baby starts moving around the house? Like of his own accord? No. Surely I'm imagining that.
THE PERFECT SEGUE, COURTESY OF NOAH & 101 DALMATIONS
Noah: I scared.
Amy: You're not scared, you're stalling. Get back in bed.
Noah: Pongo bit the bad guys.
Amy: Yes, he did. Get back in bed.
Noah: Pongo bit the bad guys on the butt.
Amy: Mmm-hmm. Get back in bed.
Noah: Pongo! Don't you bite my butt!
Okay, FINE. You people. You are still talking about the cloth diapers. You have a LOT TO SAY about the cloth diapers. You are determined to turn this blog into the type of blog that the Amy of five years ago would never, ever read, what with the boobs and the co-sleeping and the slings and the cloth diapers and the other assorted tree-hugging hippie crap.
I'll be honest, my main reasons for cloth diapering had nothing to do with trees or patchouli or really, anything noble. They were:
1) Cost. I can't believe how many Mega Extra Jumbo packages of disposables we've already blown through, on top of the price of Pull-Ups. And now that I have a really solid grasp on the YEARS of diapering that stretch out before us (i.e. my mother-in-law's claims of potty-training her children by 12 months are a TAD DUBIOUS), I did the math, multiplying the number of diapers by months and years and then by my inability to ever use a coupon, and came to the scientific conclusion of HOLY SHIT RECEPTACLES BATMAN.
2) Boredom. Seriously, have you seen these things? With the pockets and fuzzy fleece and the colors and snaps and covers and accessories and solutions? Diapering SOLUTIONS, people. You know how I feel about SOLUTIONS.
Honestly, it was either switch to cloth diapers or rearrange the dining room furniture again.
Plus, there was this moment when I walked down the stairs and through the kitchen and all the way across the back yard to deposit a bag of diapers in our trash can when I realized that...huh. I think it's actually a shorter walk down to the washer and dryer, and there's really no reason why I can't do another small load of laundry each day. I mean, I do a LOT OF LAUNDRY. I have TWO CHILDREN. I have a VERY SHEDDY CAT. And I SPILL THINGS ON MYSELF EVERY GODDAMN DAY OF MY LIFE. The whole "omfg extra laundry! anything but omfg extra laundry!" thing was not so very scary anymore.
(Babies = laundry. Fact!)
It also helped that Jason recently became utterly entranced with cloth wipes, or at least, the cloth wipes ACCESSORIES, i.e. the cloth wipe warmer. I made fun of him in the store, because dude. A wipe warmer? How precious are our children's asses, all of a sudden? But he had a point. Even though we have really only added one more butt to the household, we've been going through about 30 times more wipes for some reason. We're always running low and flushing the non-flushable kind and throwing out the flushable kind and Ceiba thinks old dried-out wipes from the trash can AREZ M1GHTY TASTEE YUM.
So we switched to cloth wipes, and while I was incredibly paranoid that we would Always Be Out Of Wipes Right When I Really Needed Them, I realized that indeed, spending a few minutes each day to mentally inventory the wipes and do laundry accordingly was not such a big deal at all.
Which led to a conversation a week or so later over some wine and a romantic dinner, when I leaned in close and slurrily said, "Dude, let's DO IT. Let's like, fucking CLOTH DIAPER and like, BE THOSE PEOPLE. Yeah. Man."
And. That's about that. I've ordered some bumGenius diapers on pretty much everybody's suggestion, which should round out our supply enough to use cloth exclusively (I do put Ez in a Pampers at night, just to use up what we've already bought). I bought some liners now that somebody finally explained them to me (liners, inserts, doublers, soakers -- it's like CLOTH DIAPER ESPERANTO). I checked out the Goodmama diapers a bunch of you mentioned and ran away screaming, because I need to be able to both diaper my children AND SEND THEM TO COLLEGE. There's been a bit of a learning curve for re-figuring out how often Ezra needs changed and the jury is still out on whether they're an appropriate replacement for a Pull-Up. Thus, cloth diapers are neither the greatest! thing! ever! nor are they the most inconvenient pain-in-the-ass-iest thing ever. I like 'em, gonna stick with 'em; I promise wholeheartedly not to talk about 'em constantly, because zzzzzzzz.
Mostly, they make a cute baby look even cuter, with a big padded Disney character butt that really brings out the thigh rolls.
Still not as cute as a completely naked baby butt. Which I cropped out, because you've gotta hold onto a few things for prom night, you know?