“That last diaper was a crime! Yet, I’m strangely impressed. In other words, I’ve taken a picture.”
During my pregnancy, I bought what I consider a starter set of cloth diapers. I had actually been interested in cloth diapers when my now 16-year-old son was a baby, but that wasn’t in the cards.
During my pregnancy, I also thought that I would have a relatively easy child-birth and spend my maternity leave basking in new baby while spending some nap times sewing and doing other domestic things. The universe, however, said, “Nah, you’re having a c-section. You’ll spend the first month wishing you could comfortably pick up that baby and recovering from surgery.”
Now, just about 2 months later, I’m feeling much closer to normal. Norma enough to give cloth diapers a try. Having done about two loads of diaper laundry, I am now feeling so bold as to also try reusable wipes.
My older son thinks that is a bridge too far.
When I asked him what he thought a good size for reusable wipes would be, you could see the mathematics of skepticism play out boldly across his face. When I told him that he could continue to use the wipes that would wind up in a landfill if he wanted to, and that he and his brother would be dealing with the consequences, but that I was going to try these, he looked at me like, “Why? Whyyyyyyy did you have to put it that way?”
I’m not the world’s best recycler, but I don’t just give up either.
Besides, I love the idea of wiping my baby’s “booty” with pirate flannel.
I cannot believe that I am (I have become) someone who has planned a going home outfit for New Baby.
Should everything work according to plan, he should be coming home about three months from now.
I don’t even think that a going home outfit is that important. I mean, he will have no awareness of the thing. And there is less-than-zero chance that some bodily fluid or other will be on that outfit before we even make it the mile and change between the hospital and home.
What has happened to me?
I ordered a hat that matches the outfit.
They say that every child is different…but is a mom different with every child. Am I becoming someone I don’t even know yet?
Is now the right time to also confess that I’ve ordered a teeny, tiny little winter jacket for him?