My Experiences with Cloth Diapering

So I cloth diaper my four month old. Cloth diapering is pretty normal now to many I think, but in the rural area where I live, I might as well tell people that I wrap my daughter's hindparts in leaves and mud cakes. When I tell lots of people, they immediately ask "why." To my family, it is mostly a question of cost. My husband, who is incredibly frugal, likes cloth diapering A LOT. The day after my daughter was born, Matt walked into my hospital room with this huge smile on his face. When I asked him what was up, he said "You know, I think I'm going to really like this cloth diapering thing." It soon came out that on the way home the night before (it was an hour drive home from the hospital--told you we lived in the boonies!) he had figured out the price of disposables for two and a half years versus the price of cloth diapers and he was very pleased!

For me personally though, it is a question of comfort. I know that I would not want to wear paper underwear around for two years, so I wouldn't think that Alice would either. The cloth diapers we have are super plush and super comfy looking. To me, they just look better for a baby. Plus, I think they are super cute and fun--and to me, aesthetics means a lot!

I used disposables for both of my older children. When Gabby was born 10 years ago, I was very young, and although I wanted to cloth diaper (my mom had used cloth with me, and I had heard her tell people about it over the years), I didn't have the knowledge or time to track down something that was not readily available in my rural area. When Sam was born, I was in college, and I just didn't think--went right with the disposables. The only issues I had with disposables were the comfort issues and then the fact that I didn't like the way that they smelled--even unused. Something about it was just artificial and weird. But because I didn't think about it that much, I didn't think there was any worthy alternative.

I have been so pleased, though, with the choices you get with cloth diapering. When Alice was a newborn, we used fitteds (Kissaluvs) with covers (mostly Thirsties with a couple of Bummis thrown in), mostly all borrowed from a super awesome friend of mine. Then, as she changed sizes, we moved to prefolds and covers. I will just be honest--I am not the best prefold diaper-er in the world. But my husband...holy crap. My boy could go pro. I have no idea why or how, but I'm pretty sure he could slap a prefold on a writhering elephant. He's that good. Anyway, we rode that wave until Alice grew a bit more until we thought one-size diapers would flatter her and do its job.

And that's where we are now. Our "stash" is almost exclusively BumGenius One Size 3.0 Pockets. Why? Because they are the diapers the fit Alice the best. I tested Happy Heiny's and one FuzziBunz One Size (although I recently ordered a few sized medium Fuzzi Bunz to try), but the BumGenius are the easiest ones for everyone in the family to do (I have to consider my mother in law's input since she watches Alice while I work), and they work the best on Alice's frame. The just look comfy on her when she is wearing them.

We also have two Goodmama fitteds that I purchased off of Spots Corner. I bought then gently used because I couldn't bring myself to spend $30 on something that my baby will poop in. I like them, but (for us) I don't think they are worth that kind of money. For one thing, the fit is not as good on the BG's. Something about the way they fit around her legs doesn't look as fitted as the others. I'm hoping she will grow into them more. However, the prints are AMAZING. The two we have are kind of psychadelic, Pucci kind of prints. Just seeing them in the laundry makes me smile.

So far, Al has worn them under a wool soaker that her aunt crocheted for her. The soaker itself is adorable--gold with a magenta ribbon at the waist and a ruffle on the butt--and I love that it was homemade just for her. We have worn this specifically at nighttime. We have only done it a couple of times, but I'm not sure how much I like it. For one thing, I don't like waking up to the smell of wet wool. This is especially an issue when Alice is not such a heavy wetter, and is usually just fine in a Bum Genius pocket with the doubler for nighttime. So I don't have to wake up to wet wool... For the other thing, I haven't tried to fit anything over her fluffy woolly butt, so I worry about her being cold, even though she is covered in blankets. I like her to wear a blanket sleeper (she is wearing a fleece one as she sleeps beside of me right now), and I'm pretty sure that I couldn't get that over the wool. Those are my only issues, but since we are happy with other avenues, I might not do a whole lot more with wool right now. I know, though, that as she grows and changes, we will look into it again.

The final experience with cloth diapering I have had is just how addictive it is! You have no idea at how many websites I have looked at, and how many diapers I have read about. My husband thinks I am insane. But I think it is worth it...even if diapers are my new crack!

SNOW DAY!

We are out of school today for snow, which is AWESOME. Yes, I know we will have to make it up in summer time and I will bitch and moan about it at that time. But there is something magical about a snow day, no matter how old you are. Seriously. The public schools of the US should make a major ad campaign about this--people would sign up to be teachers in no time! I seriously got up this morning (at 9:15!!!) and thought about putting off law school indefinitely and keep working for the public school system just based on the totally delicious feeling of sleeping late and waking up to puffy white awesomeness.

Anyway, I desperately need to catch up on blogging, because really, I want to be a better blogger. But lately, mostly with the holidays and all, I just haven't been able to do that the way I would like. So let's hope that in 2010, I do better. We'll see. I'm not promising a lot, I guess, because I know my own limitations with work and the kids and being a viable member of the family. But I will try.

At any rate, my kids remain awesome in all ways. My son is currently standing beside me in his swimming trunks, which totally makes sense if you know my son. My oldest daughter is taking pictures of herself and the baby with her new DSi. And I am sitting here in the midst of it all, loving the noise and the happiness that radiate off of these little beings.

I took Sam to the doctor a few days ago, which was a hilarious experience. It was just a check-up (I am trying to be a good mom and scheduling everyone's medical/dental appointments at the beginning of the year so they are over and done with and so I can remember when to schedule them for next year). Sam, who has never met a stranger, sat down and immediately told the doctor, "We have problems in our house." I was sitting there, holding Alice, and my jaw dropped. I had images of Child and Family Services showing up at my house with crowbars and tasers. The doctor asked him what kind of problems he was referring to, and he goes, "My sister and I went on the recalled toy website, and we have THREE TOYS that were recalled!!" The doctor laughed, and I laughed (a little uneasily) and decided to breathe again. The check-up went along as planned. Then the doctor said she needed to check Sam's genitals. I helped him to pull his pants down, and the doctor talked to him about good touch/bad touch. He asked why she was touching him. She smiled and said that she needed to make sure that he was growing ok. Sam gets all serious and says (in a loud voice, mind you), "That thing on the top...it grows a lot!!! Really fast sometimes! I think it is going to grow and grow and touch the ceiling!" The doctor and I both had to put our heads down and silently laugh. I am going to remind Sam of this around the first time that he brings a girl from college.

Ok, now Gabby just took a picture of Alice and put a mustache and fuzzy black eyebrows on her. She looks amazingly like Mario.

It is days like this that I really should do more. We were out of school yesterday as well, and I got all my laundry done and cleaned out Sam's drawers and went through our unmatched socks to weed out potential matches and turning the rest into rags (dusting with socks is kinda the bomb diggity and I dare you to find those exact words elsewhere on the internet). But then part of me tells me that I should have more days like this, where my major accomplishments including watching Celebrity Rehab, loading the dishwasher, showering, and testing the merits of Herbal Essences new Tousle Me Softly mousse. I am usually such a Type A kinda girl--always running, always going, always holding myself to a super high standard that I'm not sure I ever really attain--that days like these feel super indulgent and wonderful. Could I do it tomorrow? Definitely not. I would go crazy. But right now I feel centered and happy and awesome.

My birthday is less than two weeks away. I will be 27. I think of all that I have done thus far--the three kids, the moves across the country, college, all the stuff that has been strange and hard and wonderful. I want it to continue--my husband has talked about slowing down as we approach 30, but I don't think I want to. I want this--I can't wait to get back to law school, I want all the challenges that that brings. As I approach my birthday, I feel better about myself than ever before. Part of that is the physical stuff, but most of that is having my kids and my family and feeling complete.

And on that note, Alice decides that she has had ENOUGH. I am off to give her a nap, and maybe take one myself!!!

Morgan is a size 8.

That is all I have to say. It is kinda the best thing ever.

Sitting in a bag beside of me is a pair of size 8 pants. 3 mothereffing pairs of them in fact.

I have not been a size 8...well, ever. I wore a 6 before my first daughter was born and a 10/12 after. I have been up to a size 16 (and a tight size 16 at that). I have spent most of my time as an adult as a 14.

I just cancelled every email sale alert I receive from a plus sized clothier. I am going to all my online shopping carts in a bit and deleting all the size 10's and replacing them with 8's.

And I am never going back. That is basically why I am writing this. The way I feel right now...I wouldn't trade it for anything on this planet. I am so proud of myself. I feel like ME. I don't feel like Mommy Morgan or Stressed Out Morgan. I feel like MORGAN, GROWN ASS WOMAN and OFFICIAL HOT MAMA. I feel strong. I feel comfortable in my own skin. I feel like I could go in anywhere right now at this moment and not be uncomfortable (well, I'd change out of my jammies first).

Fuck yeah!

The Post in Which I Bemoan the State of the Mama

Last night, we were all sitting around the table, eating breakfast for dinner which is what I fix when I don't want to go to the grocery store and purchase real food. Given that my car was under about 3 inches of ice and snow, this was not based solely on my own laziness. Anyway, we were finishing up, and my son asked for seconds. I got up to get him some more, basically just happy that he was eating (my son is a finicky eater, and a great deal of my time is spent begging, pleading and cajoling him into sticking something into his mouth), and he goes, "Yeah, you have to serve me because you are a WOMAN."

And that is when my heart fell fifty feet, landed in my toes, and decided to peace out for the next few seconds while I fumbled with the pancakes and tried to think of something to say.

I talked to him and found out that he thinks that women are supposed to do the laundry, feed the babies, clean the house and do the cooking. He said this, not with the usual silly grin on his face that he uses when he is telling me that a robot that frequently turns into a truck is the star of a movie he is going to make, but a look of full-on earnestness. This is what he thinks.

And he has no reason to think otherwise. As I was sitting on the couch later, holding the baby, watching Law and Order and trying to hold back my sobs, I realized that this is what Sam sees me do. When Sam is around his mom, the most influential woman in his life, I am always doing one of the above things. Every time I am at home, I run around, going in seven million different directions, trying to do laundry and keep the house from looking like something from Hoarders. I cook nearly every meal we eat because we live in a rural area and healthy restaurant choices are few and far between. I also try to keep a cookie jar full of cookies at all times, especially now at the holidays. Really, the only time I sit is when I am nursing Alice.

I tried to explain to Sam that women don't have to do those things, and that women do other things too. I tried to tell him about my job, about why I do the things I do, but he just stared at me, his placid blue eyes imploring me to shut up and say something interesting about the Transformers. He doesn't care what I say, because he only sees what I do. And that sucks.

I brought it up to my husband, who was typing a paper for a class he is taking and therefore, totally not in the mood for any of this. He goes, "Well, he'll be happy about it later and have good memories of you keeping clean clothes on his back and good food in his stomach." WTF?!? I explained that that wasn't quite good enough, and he goes, "What am I supposed to do about it?"

And what indeed. I have sat through waaay too many Women's Studies classes for this to be my reality. But I don't know what to do about it. If I don't do those things (cleaning, laundry, cooking), they will not get done. Period. My husband wouldn't know what to do with a chuck roast if it sat in his lap and called him "mama." He tries to help every now and again, but he is so slow in his tasks that I always get fed up before he finishes and do it myself. We started out as this couple who used words like "partnership" and "50/50" and somehow we have ended up here at this traditional, awful place. And I'm miserable.

Well, I take that back. Not miserable. Just tired. Part of it is a good tired, a kind of tired that I actually crave. I love the busy-ness of having three kids, love the constant noise and motion. I grew up an only child, and was always kind of jealous of the commotion I saw at other people's houses. I have it now, and it is infectious and wonderful. BUT. I am also just plain tired. I get up every morning and go to work (where I mentor and tutor homeless kids--a very emotionally exhausting way to spend six hours) and then I drive home, swing by my kid's school and pick them up and meet my mother in law to pick up my baby. When I get home, I either head right back out again to either dance or karate class or I spend the afternoon with the kids--cleaning, and talking with them. I discuss the day's dramas with my 10 year old, construct Lego fortresses with my son, coo at and tickle the baby. I fix dinner. I get everyone in the bathtub and do laundry. Since Alice is now going through a phase where she will only sleep when I am asleep next to her, I hold her until I finally collapse in bed at around 11. On the weekends, I am just up doing this same schedule, minus the work part. Which means that on Monday, I end up getting up even more tired than I was on Friday evening.

I would love to have some time just to sit down under a blanket and read. Just an hour. Sometimes I think I would give up anything just to have one evening at home alone where I could take a bath, drink some wine and watch Lifetime movies. I daydream about that. Sometimes in the daydream, I am wearing a Snuggie. I don't own a Snuggie, and I have frequently made fun of them. I am tempted by them now, and I suddenly realize the appeal.

I remember sitting in a women's studies class my freshman year of college and discussing how one raises feminist kids. I will do that, I thought. And here I am. It saddens me. Somewhere, I have lost that girl who sat in the University Center (it is not even called that now) and passed out petitions for better lighting on campus, that girl who inhaled theory like air. She is not here anymore, that girl, and I am left here, and I am sad and I want her back. I just want her to come back long enough to show Sam what women can do. That is all I want.

Pumping Sucks.

Literally. And figuratively.

Yesterday, in a feat of forgetfulness the likes of which I haven't been prone to in a long time, I managed to leave my pump, id badge, wedding rings, lunch, and assorted other goodies at home. My husband realized it some 10 minutes after I left, but by that time I was well on my way and singing to the radio so I didn't hear my phone buzzing in the charger. He ended up bringing the stuff to me, but didn't get it here until almost 1:00, during his own lunch time. Which meant that I missed one of my normal pumping times. I managed to pump one time yesterday, and wouldn't you know it but yesterday was the day that my mother in law commented, "Wow, Alice sure ate a lot today! I might have to break into the freezer stash." So, I of course, freak out because I am bringing home much less milk, plus the freezer stash is a source of sanity for me and not something I want to bust into because of my own idiocy in forgetting my stuff at home. I make plans to pump at night after Alice goes to bed to make up for the lost milk.

Guess who decides to stay up until 11:00? Now, she is going through this little phase where the only way she will go to sleep is to have me nurse her laying down in bed when I go to bed. She eats and then I lay her down beside of me and roll over with my back to her. Then she falls asleep. It is the only way, for the past three nights at least, to get her there. It is not horrible by any stretch of the imagination, but it does not leave for quality pumping time. Plus, I end up falling asleep too and then she ends up sleeping with us, and none of us sleep as well all together. ANYWAY, at 11:00 last night, she is awake, but falling fast. I put her to bed, thinking I will just get back up and pump the other boob after she is asleep. Guess who is a hungry, hungry hippo? Yeah. She ends up eating from both and then falling asleep on my arm. Great. Since there is no point in pumping at that point, I go to sleep too. However, because we are sleeping together, she wakes up at 3:30 (not something she usually does if she is sleeping in the bassinet). Great, I think. I'll feed her and then pump and then come back to bed. She does manage to eat quickly and sort of falls back to sleep, but definitely seems like she wants to cuddle. So I lay there, dozing, until she is good and asleep. By this point, it is 4:30, so I get up and pump. Do you know how much it sucks to pump at 4:30 in the morning? A lot. Especially when all you can think about is crawling back under your new flannel sheets and getting that one and a half hour of sleep that you crave so much. I manage to do it, and then to wash the pump, and then I come back to bed. And guess who slept until 7:00 this morning? This girl.

So I get up and pump again. At this point, my boobs were TAPPED.OUT. I managed to get about 3.5 ounces and just called it a day. But now I'm nervous that she won't have enough today and will bust into the freezer supply, which is fine I guess, but not something I want to make into a daily occurence.

And the worst thing is that I remembered my pump and everything today, but I do not want to go do it at 10:00 (my normal pumping time). I have a decent room to pump in (locking door, nice chair), but it is a long way from the room where I do most of my work. Plus, I have to walk through the auditorium to get there (I work at a high school), so I have to go at times when the drama kids are not in there. So I have to lug my heavy bag down there twice a day and sometimes there are kids around and I know they are like, "Why is the mentor going into the janitor's anteroom with that big old bag and a J. Crew catalog?" Cause it kinda looks nefarious. Moreover, it just takes time out of my day when I could be working with students. The best case scenario would be to do it during this block (planning period), but I can't because the auditorium is in use by the competition drama team, and I can't bust up their performance to pass through. Sigh. What's even worse is that my other pumping time is during my lunch and it is so tempting to skip it because I can use that time to talk to other teachers (two of which are also experiencing pumping drama right now) about my students and other adult topics. I almost feel like I need that adult conversation time because I spend the rest of my working day talking to teenagers and the rest of my time at home talking to my kids. So tempting to skip it! But I can't... I have to keep telling myself that.

Anyway, the moral of the story is that I hate to pump, especially at 4:00 in the morning. And when I do it, I end up coming to work in cargo pants. Yes, you read that correctly. Cargo pants. Why? Because they are technically not against the dress code (not jeans!) and because it is raining and icky, I overslept, and I had to do laundry and find a magazine picture of something that starts with the letter "u" this morning for my son. Plus, they pseudo-fit, especially since I consumed a whole ton of sugar yesterday and feel kind of bloated/icky today. So I am wearing cargo pants, a J.Crew t-shirt, and a puffy vest. And my hair is not washed, and I am only wearing a tiny bit of foundation, mascara, and Yes To Carrots lip balm. Sexy. The funny thing is, my husband remarked on how "cute" I look this morning. And my 10 year old, who normally only gives me an eye roll in the morning (not a morning person, that one) told me she liked my vest. Welcome to Bizarro World!

I feel mildly bad because I always used to make fun of this girl I used to work with in CA because she would wear elastic waist black velour pants to work because they were technically not against the dress code. She would just wear a blouse with them, like she was wearing normal black pants. It was horrendous. But I am doing the same thing today. Karma--she is a bitch.

And finally, I must add that the fates are conspiring against me because my husband is getting...sick. To be honest, I would rather get amoebic dysentary with a side of typhus than for my husband to get a cold. Why? Because it lasts FOREVER and he documents each bit of horribleness for all to hear. As in, "This morning my throat is a bit scratchier and my nose is more stuffy than runny on the left side, not the right. Oh, and I've sneezed four times." Grrrrr.... Plus, he thinks having a cold gives him every right to go to bed at 8:00 and remind me to do his laundry. Which is what I was doing this morning.... along with determining that "u" is a very unfrequently used letter in the English language.

Strike That...

Ok, so maybe it is not worth it. I may or may not have just mooned a 16 year old. He dropped his biology book and I leaned over to get it for him JUST TRYING TO BE NICE, and then I remembered. These pants do not fit. That breeze floating over the top of my lower back...evidence that the pants do not fit.

Let me see how quick I can get those cords to me....

Trapped in the Closet

So I am a big fan of R. Kelly songs and the videos that go along with them. R. Kelly the person...not so much. But the videos! Are there better works of American cinema? I doubt it.

Anyway, I wanted to title this post after an R. Kelly song, but I'm really not trapped in any sort of closet. But I am trapped in the library. I came in here to check my email and then a student teacher/librarian person started doing a presentation. And the only way out is directly across the library, right in front of her. Great. Since I don't want to be the douchebagess who interrupts some poor girl who is giving a truly awful presentation on the Dewey decimal system to a bunch of bored ninth graders, I am stuck here. I figured if I typed something, that would make me look busy. So here I am.

So I am going to lament my lack of pants. I have no work pants that fit, save a pair of Gap denim trousers that I am currently wearing. And I use the term "fit" very generally--they are one size two big, but since they are not two or three sizes too big, they are still in my closet. And I am wearing them. I actually kind of hate them, I think.

Anyway, why do I have no work pants? Well, because I've lost weight, which is an awesome thing, both for aesthetic reasons and health reasons, given that I was born into a family with the genetic predisposition for every horrible disease you can think of. And also because I took the money that I should have spent on pants for work and bought skinny jeans. Yes, folks. Skinny jeans that I can't wear 4 days out of the week.

And yes, before you doubt my intellectual capacities, I do have a bachelor's degree from one of the best public universities in this country. A bachelor's degree that I bet that esteemed university really regrets giving me...

Because you see, I NEEEEEED skinny jeans much, much worse than I need trousers or skirts or even dresses (but I also NEEEED dresses because they are awesome). Why? Because I have three kids. And I have a better body now than I did when I was a senior in high school, thank you Weight Watchers. For the past 10 years, I have been trying to buy things that flattered my zaftig frame. But you know what? Screw it. Are skinny jeans the most flattering,useful thing that I could buy? No. But they are hot. And they fit. And when I am wearing them, all the other mom's who wear their husband's hand me downs talk about me behind my back. And that feels GOOOOOD.

This past weekend, we went to Target and IHOP which qualifies as a date night if you have three kids, one of which just recently acquired the ability to support his/her head. I wore the jeans, along with a cute t-shirt and a cardigan that I got at 3:00 in the morning on Black Friday. All night, my husband was checking out my ass. Even as I took some very gratuitous bites of his gingerbread pancakes. And our 16 year old waiter in IHOP openly flirted with me. My husband thought it all hilarious and left him a $10 tip. But it made me feel wonderful. Truly, truly wonderful.

So I will gladly suffer through the wretched Gap trousers on Tuesday, just for that shining moment on Saturday. Very gladly.

And guess what is currently in my Ann Taylor Loft online bag? Skinny corduroys! With any luck I will be wearing those to work next week!