Please
excuse my absence, I’ve been deep in the vortex of YouTube, watching strangers with terrible camera skills put
cloth diapers on their infants and uncooperative toddlers.
Let me
explain.
Since
the beginning[1], C and I had
thought we wanted to cloth diaper. Because we are C is self-righteous
and judgy cheap. Plus, we enjoy a
challenge[2].
At first, I was terrified, imagining a future wherein I’m forced to
resign from gainful, intellectually stimulating employment so as to remain at
home, forever tied to the washing machine[3],
just one load of poopy pre-folds away from sheer insanity, forever on the
precipice of diaper doom.
Enter
stage left: diaper service! Which, apparently, is a thing. A thing that I did not know existed outside some kind
of exclusive celebrity run club of high rolling, sanctimonious eco moms who
import organic Yak cheese from Nepal to fuel their solar generating wind
turbines (Gwyneth,
I’m looking at you).
But
you guys. This is totally a thing within reach of the every-woman! It’s still (a
lot) cheaper to launder your cloth diapers at home, sure – but the cost of a
service, at least in this neck of the woods, remains equal to or cheaper than
the boatload of disposable Huggies[4]
that are being aggressively marketed to me every-freakin’-day-over-email
dear-lord-in-heaven-please-enough![5]
Plus, we don’t have a washer-dryer in our apartment. We share one with two
other families – at least one of which would probably call the authorities if
they found us the washing machine with baby-stink laden rags.
So
here we are. Having selected the basic service and having spoken to the, predictably kind of crazy, middle aged lady named “Donna” who runs the place
and will be showing up to retrieve our 70 filthy diapers every Monday night
between 8-10 pm.[6]
<Deep
breath>. Now to navigate the gear. Our basic service provides 70 “pre-folds”
a week[7].
Pre-fold. A distinction which is endlessly confusing because, brace yourselves:
you have to fold them all. by. your. self.
There’s absolutely nothing pre-folded about these rectangular squares of
cotton. Why, universe? Why?
Of
course, in addition to the provided for pre-folds, there’s a veritable word
soup of accessories and accoutrements to contemplate. Covers and Snappis and All-in-Ones
and Pocket Diapers and Doublers and Inserts, OH MY. <Law degree, don’t fail me now>
Scout’s
honor, it has taken me weeks to fully
even partially understand the world
of cloth diapering. To be able to wrangle from the jaws of the interwebs the
necessary, amidst all the noise. (Noise being mostly related to long winded discussions
of “blow-outs” and other soon-to-be-my-living-reality-horrors.)
So
far, here is what we have determined:
(1) Covers
After
much research and painstaking Amazon sleuthing, we’ve decided to buy about 5-6
covers. It’s an added layer of waterproof, reusable protection and we won’t
have to wash them with every use. Because we’re always ones to bend to popular
opinion, I think we’ll invest in a couple high quality Thirsties.
Kind of digging the “Apricot” color. Or maybe, just maybe, I’ll cave and buy some devastatingly adorable number from Etsy.
(2) Snappis
My how
times have changed. Apparently, the stabby pins of yesteryear are out. The new
fangled appears-to-be-some-kind-of-tinker-toy?,
Snappi, is very, very in. I guess the cover can hold things in place, but the
added Snappi protection seems worth the investment. Word on the street is that
one package of Snappis should get us through at least the first year. But
somehow I can already see “Luna toy” written all over this…
(3) We care about the earth – to an
extent[8]
When I
finally thought I was done making sense of this cloth diaper bizness and feeling smug in my general environmental-feel-good-moral-superiority,
a friend who cloth diapered her twins offered up the following gem: you probably also want to use non-disposable
wipes.
HOLD
THE PHONE. Are you possibly suggesting that I want to clean up my inevitable
baby-blow-outs with a reusable rag? Is this a thing?
Sigh.
(I am
completely, 100% not at all judgy of all the parents who use disposables. I
swear. In fact, there will probably be some kind of heartfelt,
deep-soul-searching post about 3 months from now in which I tearfully lament
the end of cloth diapering because just-cannot-deal-and-Mother-Earth-can-go-to-hell!
and please-make-the-baby-stop-crying!
and all sorts of other “reasonable” and “balanced” commentary that suggests I
have gone off the deep end. That’s a promise, not a threat. Stay tuned!).
For a
much more in depth tutorial on all things cloth diaper, Amalah/Alphamom is
where it’s at: here and oh-my-goodness-cloth-diaper-made-from-recycled-sweater-HERE
and also, for good measure, here.
Any
other cloth-diaper-hopefuls out there? Any intel to share from the experienced
among you?
[1] Of time? Infertility? This pregnancy? Our very existence!
[2] That’s a lie. For I am lazy.
[3] I just love how the title of this photo
is “weary, dejected woman.” <I see my future>.
[4] Which, I kid you not (pun intended), are
now made “with an umbilical cord cutout!”
I could not make this stuff up if I tried.
[5] I blame Pea in the Pod, who conned me in
to sharing my email in exchange for apple juice and some kind of estrogen laced
fiber bar made for vulnerable pregnant ladies. *shakes fist*
[6] Can’t you just imagine the reality show?
After the babies go to bed, one woman
takes on the city. From east to west and north to south, she travels
neighborhood by neighborhood in her diaper-mobile, laundering the hundreds of
cloth diapers that keep these babies running! Okay, maybe it needs some work. But I totally have a picture
in my head – one that, apparently, Google Image does not share for my
unrelenting searches have yielded nothing suitable. Use your imagination.
[7] That’s 10 ever-loving diapers a day for those keeping score at home.
[8] Truth: sometimes I drive to the
drycleaner. Which is 4 blocks away. Now you
know my shame.
