Adventures in Newborn Cloth Diapering, Part One

Hey, Baby Ike. So. This is awkward, but apparently the Internet is very, very interested in hearing about your diapers.

Not in a creepy way! I don't think. Everybody just keeps asking about the cloth diapers and what we think of the cloth diapers and would we recommend the cloth diapers or are we just pointlessly martyring ourselves over the cloth diapers and so forth and so on and etc. 

The thing is, there are about 500,340,201,430 (at last count) websites out there that discuss cloth diapers. Probably a good half of those sites specifically cover cloth diapering a newborn. I know, because I read just about every single flipping one while I was pregnant with Ike.

Noah wore disposables, and honestly, it never even occurred to me that cloth was a viable, non-crazy-person option. I switched Ezra over to cloth diapers when he was around four or five-ish months old. I was sick of diaper rash and poop blowouts, and we were making all these other efforts around our home to be more (GAG) "green" and generate less waste and trash, so disposable diapers kinda seemed like something we should eliminate (ZING).

That, plus our inability to EVER remember to buy diapers at the store, since we always THOUGHT we were using fewer diapers than we actually were, is what led to me finally shrieking "THAT'S IT, I'M SWITCHING TO CLOTH" while driving to the store with Ezra in nothing but one of Noah's old swim diapers because GODDDDDDDDdamn. 

That process was really easy. I emailed some people who cloth diapered and asked them what they used. Answer: FuzziBunz and bumGenius. Okay then! I hunted around for the best price and plopped down a couple hundred bucks on diapers (half one brand and half the other) and some detergent, promising myself that I would stick with it, and that it was a worthwhile investment. 

And it was! Holy cats. The diapers did everything I hoped they would do: Stop blowouts and rash (check), look adorable (check), eliminate our need for both disposable diapers and nighttime pull-ups (check check), and save money in the long run (check check check). And it turned out I was much, much better at remembering to dump the contents of a diaper pail into the washing machine every few days than I was at remembering to pick up another econo-mondo-box of Huggies size...wait, is he a 3 still? Should we move up to 4s? And don't I have a coupon somewhere for Pampers? 

I kicked myself for not considering cloth diapers before. TRUTH. 

But. I sensed that cloth diapering a newborn might not be so straightforward. The whole "one diaper birth to potty-training" thing isn't really possible -- unless you get a REALLY BIG BABY like Noah, or are willing to snap your infant into a crazy bulky, cinched-up diaper four times the size of his head for a couple weeks. Plus: leaks around the leg holes because newborn babies have thighs like underfed poultry. Plus plus: The umbilical stump! YOU MUST MIND THE STUMP.

So I knew our hand-me-downs would not be a viable option at first. 

But then! Going out and buying a whole diapering system just for a few weeks? Or months? Or however long it would take my baby to fit into the hand-me-down one-size diapers? Oof. Doesn't that kinda kill the money-saving part? Especially once you realize how much some newborn-sized fitted diapers and fancy covers can cost, so maybe I should just go with a couple dozen prefolds and cheap waterproof covers? Is that enough? Should I buy more? Do they need something different for nighttime? What about when we're out? Will I really be happy fumbling with prefolds and Snappis in a public restroom with no changing table?

(Now go ahead and repeat that previous paragraph over and over again for about eight straight months. Welcome to my pregnancy! Try not to go completely insane.)

So. Okay. I GET why everyone wants me to talk about cloth diapers, because it's the same reason I wanted everybody else to talk about cloth diapers: I was hoping what worked for you would work for me, too. 

Obviously, I cannot promise that. Hell, what works for us NOW didn't even work for us two months ago. Despite my tendency to prepare for my children's births like preparing for the apocalypse, I am always...surprised, in the immediate days after, to once again discover that 1) stores are still open, and 2) my Amazon and Etsy accounts still work. I can...buy more things? You're kidding. That's amazing. 

Thus, cloth diapering Ike has been an ongoing process of trial and error, tweaks and re-jiggerings and changing our minds about what works best and when and how.

It's a weirdly rewarding process, for sure, because I have two full drawers now of some of the most CRIMINALLY CUTE diapering options in the world, to the point that I'm so HAPPY he was born in the summer because it meant I never, ever felt compelled to put actual clothing on him and cover up the adorableness. Plus, instead of package after package of disposables, I've purchased wonderful diapers and covers handmade by other moms, with my money going to support their home-based businesses, or just to help someone make some money off their hobby, doing something they love.

And when you realize that newborns go through about 8-10 diapers a day...well, shit, man. That's almost 100 non-biodegradable diapers headed for the landfill every 10 days. Some of them having spent all of 30 seconds in active duty on your baby's butt, because newborns have IMPECCABLE poop timing. 

I do not judge anyone, however, who chooses to value their sanity over the environment in those first weeks and months. (Or ever, really. My diapering choice isn't meant to one-up yours, or anything. Just trying to lay out why I choose this, and all.) I could definitely make the argument for stealing as many Pampers as the hospital will give you and worrying about cloth diapering later, once your baby gets some chunk and YOU get some damn sleep.

I will say, hey: I have three kids. I work about 25-30 hours a week, on average. I have been known to drive my child (in a fuel-guzzling minivan) to his bus stop two blocks away because it's kinda sort-of raining outside. So I am not Superwoman, either environmentally or otherwise. But if I can do this, I'm pretty sure anyone can. And by anyone I am also including drunk monkeys. 

So. Now that I've bored everyone to tears with my preamble, how about some specifics? Like I said yesterday, I'm breaking this magnum opus into a few parts. Tomorrow Imma gonna be brutally honest and tell you about the stuff that didn't work for us and some of the things I'd probably do differently. The next day I'll talk about what did work and where we are now, three months later.

But before I do that, I thought it might be nice to do a little primer on the diaper varieties I've tried so everybody will know What I'm Talking About When I Talk About Cloth Diapers. I was incredibly intimidated by all the different things when I first looked into cloth diapers: I wasn't prepared for such a steep learning curve. One-size? Fitted? AIO? Pocket? PUL? Fleece, wool, wraps, liners, doublers, soakers? WHAT IN THE SAM HILL IS EVERYONE TALKING ABOUT?

After the jump, a brief intro to a few different kinds of diapers. Plus baby pictures! If that's all you're here for.

Hold Please

On Friday I thought, "Hey, you know what? People keep asking and asking for my opinions about cloth diapering a newborn, and I keep putting it off because I don't necessarily have 'OPINIONS' as I have many, many meandering pointless thoughts, but...whatever. I am writing those thoughts DOWN and getting it all out of the way and then many people will stop asking me for my important opinions that I do not actually have."

2,500 words later, I realized that maybe, JUST MAYBE, I had a little more to say about cloth diapers than I originally thought. Right now it's looking like a three-part series. I KNOW. I KNOW AND I AM SORRY. 

Back when I started this blog, I never in a million years would have dreamed that I would one day be the sort of person who wrote three-part series on cloth diapers. Perhaps, if I'd known, I would have re-thought the whole blogging thing in first place. 

But I didn't, so here we are. It's not my fault no one invented time travel, you know.

Anyway, so that's...coming. Feel free to head for the dang hills. I wasn't able to work on it today because I had to take Noah and Ezra to the dentist, because six months ago I only had two children and thought that scheduling back-to-back dental appointments sounded like a good idea. True, I was six months' pregnant at the time and SHOULD have known better, but I think I was laboring under the misconception that when you give birth to a third child, it comes with an extra set of arms.

Noah lost YET ANOTHER tooth last night -- his third tooth in just over a month. The rapid-fire shedding of teeth is mostly paving the way for The Coming Orthdontia, as he currently has two adult-sized teeth fighting for the preciously spare real estate left by the three baby teeth. "Well, maybe his mouth will..grow a little bit," the dentist said, cocking his head sideways and making a face like he was pretending to accept the possible existence of the Loch Ness Monster in order to placate a crazy person at a dinner party. 

I told him he didn't need to lie to me: I had my first spacer appliance in the first grade. I know this kid's genes. I was in the room when he was conceived, believe it or not.

I also learned that Noah has two of his six-year molars already. They look like they've erupted fairly recently, so the dentist helpfully informed me that IF Noah had seemed extra "cranky" or "off-kilter" or just "generally sort of begging to be sold at a yard sale" lately, the molars might be the cause. The hygenist -- at whom Noah had screamed "YOU'RE KILLING MEEEE" during his cleaning -- tried not to laugh as I feigned ignorance at any such out-of-the-ordinary behavior.

And then Ezra, sweet, cheerful little Ezra who has never minded the dentist at all, not one bit, hey look at dis magic moving outer space chair yay, proceeded to ALSO scream bloody murder throughout his whole cleaning. "I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE" was his howl of choice, over and over again until the exact second the hygenist offered him the prize box. That shut him up right quick. Oh. I was not aware there were free toys. I withdraw my previously stated objections.

(Ezra's teeth are just fine. He's got plenty of space, but needs to curb the night-time thumbsucking habit at some point before college.)

As for Baby Ike? Oh, he attracted his usual fan club with that big goofy gummy grin of his...and then promptly yakked all over my lap when no one was looking. So at least I feel like I can count on ONE of them to behave as expected.

Montessori Mayhem, Part II

Dear Internet,

You are officially a bad influence. 

Egged on by YOU PEOPLE, I did indeed turn in an About My Child form with this doodle on it. I did not stick around long enough to see Ezra's teacher read it, because I am a coward.

Also, there was a parents' breakfast down the hall, and they had muffins. 

Ezra had a slight attack of the I'm-not-so-sure-about-this-school-thing this morning. 

He's so fearless and confident and verbal and smart and chomping at the bit for big-kid stuff, that sometimes I forget. I forget that yes, he needs just as much reassurance and patience as any other two-and-a-half-year-old getting ready to leave mom behind for the first time ever. 

Or, in this particular case, a good distraction, like being allowed to carry his very own umbrella.

He left the classroom at one point and plopped himself out in the hall in a fit of defiance, demanding to know where I was.

(Shoving my face full of muffins, is where I was, while Baby Ike was passed around the room from mom to mom like a squooshy little football, igniting baby fever like wildfire.)

I peered around a doorway while an aide and the school director tried to coax him back to class, resisting the urge to run down there and scoop him up and like, hiss at anyone who continued to insist that this child, THIS BABY, was an honest-to-God preschooler now. I was wrong! This is all a mistake! I take it back! We're going home to have a picnic in the living room and then I shall nom on his cheeks all day, as usual!

Something somebody said to Ezra apparently clicked, and he jumped up and ran back into the classroom with a big smile. That was the last I heard or saw of him until it was time to go home. He emerged with a conflicted look, both clearly relieved that I had not completely abandoned him to the Montessori way of life, but also...well, the block tower, Mom. The block tower is AWESOME. 

Before we left I let him have a muffin and some juice from the parents' breakfast. He spilled the juice but helped clean it up, and then spotted a plate of "acorns" someone made out Hershey Kisses and cookies (based on the school's logo; preschools around here looooooove themselves some acorn-to-mighty-oak imagery). He looked at me. Please say yes, please say yes, his big eyes pleaded. 

(Honestly, I was a little shocked he didn't already have like, seven of them in his mouth already. Clearly, this place is already civilizing him.)

Of course, I said yes. 

If you ask him about school, he'll tell you all about it: "I had fun. I ate a chocolate chip." 

Extreme Ezra-ing

Last night, while I was making dinner (ratatouille and polenta, but if any of the c-h-i-l-d-r-e-n ask just call the v-e-g-e-t-a-b-l-e-s "sauce," okay?), I just happened to glance in the direction of the living room right when Ezra climbed up on the back of the couch...and toppled the crap over, headfirst, onto the hardwood floor. 

Jason and I bolted towards him in that excruciating slow-motion-feeling way, like you're already running before the screams even start but you're still terrified you won't get there until some awful injury manifests itself. I think Jason may have skipped going around the couch and just leapfrogged over it, because he had Ezra scooped up in his arms before I got there. (Though I was slowed down by nailing my hip on the dining room table, for I am incapable of getting from Point A to Point B without injuring my damn self.)

Ezra was fine. He cried for a minute, asked for some kisses, and was off and running before I could get four words into my standard "AND THAT'S WHY WE SAY NO CLIMBING ON THE...argh, forget it" speech. He. Was. Fine. 

This here toy cooking pot, on the other hand...

His HEAD. Ezra caused that dent with his HEAD. Ezra does not even have a bruise.

First day of preschool is tomorrow. Part of me knows he's going to be just fine; awesome, even. But part of me kinda wishes I could send him in wearing a helmet, all the same. 

Baby Ike, Three Months

Baby Ike officially turned three months old six whole days ago, but I truly believe that if I don't mention something, it doesn't exist. It's just one of my many mystical powers of bullshittery, actually. 

But now that another week has gone by, it's preferable to round his age down to "three months" instead of being all specific. Because 14 weeks old? Are you kidding me? Shut up. Just...shut your fat whore mouth already about my baby. Who is brand new. I haven't even taken the tags off yet. 

Okay. So. I wrote those two paragraphs at 9:15. It is now 11:22. That should, in and of itself, tell you what life with Baby Ike is like these days. 

Basically:

1) Toes, face, and bald head are distracting as all hell

2) NOM NOM NOM BOOBAGE

3) So many stripe-y convict outfits, so many hork-related outfit changes

The "happy spitting" continues, yes. I keep saying dumb things like "OH I THINK IT'S GETTING BETTER" and then someone asks why I appear to have dumped an entire container of yogurt down the back of my shirt and I remember oh, yeah, I meant to change that. I must have gotten distracted.

BY WHAT I WILL NEVER KNOW.

I've packed two entire wardrobes away already. All the teensy tiny newborn clothes and the slightly bigger 0-3 month clothes. I remember looking at the outfits he wears now when he was born and thinking: No. Never. These things are gigantic.

He has found both his hands and his sense of humor. He thinks the word "barfing" is hilarious. Probably because it comes up so often (ZING!) in our conversations. He likes to mimic certain sounds and tries to sing along when you sing to him, and lest you think I am bragging about my brilliant singing baby let me assure you that he can't carry a tune at all. 

He has rolled over exactly twice: Once when he seemed kind of pissed off at me over something and kicked his legs against my thigh enough to propel himself over. And once in the middle of the night when I went to pick him up and spent three minutes in the dark wondering why the back of his head felt so weird and bumpy before I realized I was carrying him down the hall by his face. 

I have gotten sooooo good at this baby thing, you guys. It just takes practice.

But oh, really, he's a dream baby. I keep getting dream babies. I keep waiting for the one who doesn't sleep or screams all the time and I keep getting these little balls of happy, contented deliciousness instead. It's like the universe keeps testing us, like go on, come on, have one more. And then BAM. Antichrist. 

SOON.

Definitely didn't happen this time, though. We got another good one. Another very, very good one. 

***

THINGS BABY IKE ENDORSES, THREE-MONTHS-OLD EDITION:

Boobs

Freddie the Firefly

Miracle Blankets, though God help me, Imma 'bout to duct tape the edges down if this kid doesn't stop busting his arms out and then wailing, like LOOK WHAT I JUST DID, WHY COME YOU LET ME DO WHAT I JUST DID?

DEX Products white noise machine (purchased when Noah was still in utero, has since gone unloved and unused by two whole other children, but is now suddenly essential)

The trusty old Ergo Baby Carrier (with prettified sucking/drool pads, AKA HORK TARGETS)

Anna Carrie Baby Mei Tai

Adiri Natural Nurser, AKA the bottle what looks like a boob

Prince Lionheart washPOD baby bath tub, AKA teh bukkit

Noah's ancient plastic travel swing that I forgot we even owned, kind of an older version of this one, which you may note is significantly cheaper than the Mamaroo that Ike is decidedly "MEH, WHATEVER" about because it doesn't light up and make noise and isn't covered in mysterious hand-me-down stains.

Indian cotton prefold diapers (hated them at first, now I love them, like isn't THAT SO HELPFUL)

Rebel Baby Co. fitted diapers (currently on hiatus, but you can contact Leanne (leanne[AT]rebelbabyco.com) for custom orders/inquiries)

Fleece and wool diaper covers/soakers, AKA WOOOOOLLLLIEEEEEE PAAAAAANTSSSS

Thirsties Duo Wrap and PUL covers from Fluffy's Diapers

Bac-Out Stain & Odor Eliminator (not so much for stains, but amazing for diaper pail stink, and this one may be more exciting to me than him. I dunno. I should ask him.)

THINGS BABY IKE DISAPPROVES OF:

How long it took me and my boobs to write this post

Aaaaany time now, princess. Hurry it along. 

Montessori Mayhem

This one starts preschool next week. We visited his classroom and met his teacher this morning, and by "visited" and "met" I actually mean "ransacked" and "terrorized."

His teacher is a Nice Young Man (SAYS THE DECREPIT OLD LADY) who just moved here from Portland and introduces himself to his little students as their "teacher...or guide, whatever you want, you know?" Another mother thought that was a beautiful way to look at things, while I was all, hippies! Awesome. It's high time somebody taught these resource-hogs how to compost.

The school is Montessori, so the classroom is filled with impeccably ordered shelves of wooden blocks and shapes and flashcards...and then lots of weird shit, like antique metal bells and a towel-folding station. It all has A Point, of course, and is Deeply Educational. The children wash up in an old-fashioned water basin and are expected to be be gentle with breakable plates and vases. The atmosphere is serene and peaceful, like something frozen in time from a gentler, simpler age. 

So of course Ezra barrelled in at top toddler speed, all WHERE MY GARISH PLASTIC DISNEY-PIXAR LICENSED CHARACTER CRAP BE AT?

He shot around the room like a pinball on speed: HEY LOOK AT DIS LOOK AT DIS HEY LOOK AT DIS WHAT DIS HEY LOOK

His teacher tried to trail behind him, torn between answering the endless rhetorical questions ("WHAT DIS IT'S AN EGG" "Actually, that's an ellipsoid, and..." "I EAT DAT EGG FOR DINNER WHAT DIS") and frantically trying to preserve the perfect order of the shelves and straighten up the path of destruction Ezra was leaving in his wake. 

I mostly just stood there, trying to pretend that something totally out of the ordinary was happening here, and I think I may have managed to say "He's not usually so..." but couldn't finish the sentence, because 1) LIE, and 2) Ezra had found a pair of scissors and was headed towards the bead wall with them ohhhhhhh dear.

His teacher finally backed off and announced that perhaps it was best if we just "let Ezra get all the exploration out of the way now, before school starts." I eyed Ezra (who at this point had decided it was "snack time" and was placing wooden rulers on the tables as stand-ins for granola bars) and calculated the odds that he would, AT ANY POINT IN TIME, decide that yes, indeed, all the exploration was "out of the way" and settle down. I put those odds pretty squarely at NO, NEVER, but you know. I didn't go to a Montessori preschool with fancy "fraction circles" and "ellipsoids." My math skills probably suffered as a result.

"You know, I think I'll start Ezra off with dusting," his teacher decided. "The kids just love dusting all the things!"

DON'T WE ALL, YOU GUYS.

I nodded my approval at the idea of manual labor right as Ezra upended a small metal bucket containing about 200 tiny paper fraction cards. The remainder of the visit was spent coaxing him into cleaning them up, which he did, finally, after I threatened him in a most un-Montessori manner with never coming back to school ever again in his whole life.

Whatever. It worked. And then he even went around and retrieved all the rulers off the tables and put them away without being asked. 

"See you next week, Ezra," his teacher said. He looked a little scared, yes. He handed me an 'About My Child' form to fill out and send back in. It asks parents to write a short paragraph on the back; I'm thinking of doing something interpretive, like a doodle of a tornado that shoots laser beams. 

Before we left, I had to find the school's director and turn in a huge stack of OTHER forms that I'd already filled out -- forms that I think were due a few days ago, but whatever, Ezra is my second child, and my first kid was threatened with expulsion, therefore the Imaginary Preschool Authority Figures no longer scare me. When it's Ike's turn for preschool I'll probably fill out the forms in a yellow highlighter sometime over Christmas break. 

The director chatted with Ezra for a couple minutes and then cooed over the baby, who had spent the entire visit conked out in his carseat in a corner. She asked his name.

"Ike," I said, and she reacted with resounding approval.

"That is such a great name! Like from South Par..." She caught herself and looked at me in alarm, worried that she'd just insulted the brand-new family by comparing their preshus snowflake baybee's name to an R-rated cartoon show.

"DON'T KICK THE BABY!" I said, probably a little too loudly. "Yes! Exactly. We may have done that on purpose, a little."

"That's awesome," she nodded. "I freaking love South Park."

Yeah. I kind of freaking love this school already.

I hope Ezra freaking loves it too.