Three cheers for the bobby pin.

Main Entry: bobby pin
Function: noun
Etymology: perhaps from bob
Date: 1926
: a flat wire hairpin with prongs that press close together

...What Merriam-Webster left out was ": sometimes used in amazing feats of ingenuity."

It was a matter of weeks ago when I mentioned to Justin one of Evie's latest developments that had occurred while he was away at work:

"Watch out," I said, "Evie likes to close doors now, only she can't yet manage to open them again and if any of the doors have locks on them she might be able to lock herself in."

I mentioned this especially because I have vivid memories of my brother, sister and I playing with the door locks growing up. In one memorable instance, John dared Denise and I that he could escape, Houdini style from being bound in a chair and locked inside the hall bathroom. I'm going to go ahead and say that he dared us. It is possible that we just tied him up and locked him in the bathroom. He was having a good time though, until it became apparent that he, in fact, could not escape the knots we'd secured and he started wailing for help. We, of course, panicked, realizing the trouble we'd be in since the door was locked from the inside. My mother rushed down the hallway, alerted by John's shouts to the situation, and assessed the situation.

Now, I think to most children, their parents seem to know everything, but my mother really had some neat tricks up her sleeve. She can sew, build, or solve just about anything you need her to, and armed with a credit card and a bobby pin, she jimmied the lock open on that bathroom door within about a minute.

Fast forward twenty years or so. Friday night, I'm getting ready for the opening of the LCT Benefit. Justin's in the kitchen fixing dinner while I tease and spray my hair and apply gobs of stage makeup. Evie is running back and forth between the two of us, giggling her head off. Every few minutes I take a break to chase her down the hall, sending her squealing. We both have an eye on her, but only one eye each, which of course, leaves room for trouble.

She began playing a favorite game of hers: she goes into her bedroom, pushes the door closed then goes and climbs into the rocking chair. I come, open the door and peek in, and she, miffed at the intrusion on her privacy, climbs down from the chair, crosses the room and shuts the door once more, closing me out.

There I go, back and forth, getting ready, peeking in, until the time that I go to turn the knob and it won't budge. Locked. I momentarily panic and kick myself for KNOWING BETTER, but E hasn't yet figured out that she can't get out. I call to Justin to find--what else, a credit card and a bobby pin--and Evie starts trying to open the door, realizing that she can't.

Justin arrives with the bobby pin and credit card and looks at them doubtfully.

"Doesn't that sort of thing only work in the movies?" he asked.

"No. I know for a fact this can work," I replied. And sure enough, after a few moments of fiddling with the lock with my trusty bobby, I managed to unlock the door. Evie came out and hugged us both, although I have a feeling the ordeal wasn't enough to deter her from trying that sort of thing again.

For my part, I felt both a little like MacGyver...and also an idiot.

Settling In and A Parental Rite of Passage

I'm sure as the years go by I'll get a little better at this moving thing. Right now the process is not very streamlined.

We have received both of our shipments now--the first being the unaccompanied baggage shipment, the stuff we'd hung onto the longest in Germany. It included things like a few pots and pans, Evie's crib and swing, toys, sheets, curtains, tools, and clothes. It also, unfortunately was pretty severely damaged in transit. Many of the boxes had gotten really wet and/or were crushed. Evie's crib was molded, as were a bunch of Justin's army gear, papers, and more than a few other things. Thankfully, some of the things survived, and in the end it's just stuff anyway. We'll have to file a claim for damages...joy.

The other shipment arrived a day earlier than we'd expected, on Columbus Day rather than the 13th. The moving crew was eager to be GONE, and didn't do the best job unpacking. As I better learn the way this sort of thing works I'm sure I'll be more assertive in making sure they do things the way they're supposed to. This time was definitely another learning experience.

As we've unpacked, we've noticed a few things appear to be missing. Firstly, our silverware. I chose Gorham's Golden Ribbon Edge for our pattern and we've loved it. I don't know if we have a missing box, if it's hidden somewhere among Christmas decorations or books in a mislabeled box, or if it was, as they say, ganked. I'm bummed about that though. There's a handful of other things that we haven't found yet, including the power cord for the TV. The TV arrived no problem, but it's sort of hard to use if you can't turn it on...I contacted Panasonic, but they don't seem to have replacement parts for our model. Ha. Ha.

This Wednesday we were excited to welcome a house guest into the midst of our cardboard jungle, Justin's friend Eric. They've been alternating shifts in Iraq for the last four/five years. Erc's on leave during his third tour and Justin's done two. We haven't gotten to see him since 2004, so it was a long overdue and anticipated visit. He arrived Wednesday night right before we put Evie to bed and we settled down to visit after she was snuggly asleep.

About an hour and a half after she went down, everyone froze as we thought we heard her stir. Justin went in to lull her back to sleep, as is the routine, but after a moment he called to me, and I knew something was up. As I went down the hall I heard her cough, and it didn't sound good. She'd been completely normal during the day; not so much as a runny nose, so this was completely out of the blue. She was raspy and had a terrible gutteral cough that sounded kind of like a goose. She both wanted to be held, but struggled against me as if in pain. She didn't feel feverish, but it was clear something was wrong.

I called my mother to see if she knew what was up, but she couldn't be sure over the phone what was up and advised us to go with our gut about whether or not she needed to be seen. On other nights (when she's fallen, for instance), we've opted against taking her in, but that night we thought we'd better go on into the ER, just in case. As we readied her to go, she threw up and which was a first for her too.

We arrived about 12:30 am and got checked in and immediately were seen to have her vitals taken and figure out what the symptoms were. After that we were told to have a seat in the waitinig area, where there were at least a half dozen people ahead of us waiting to be seen. Around the room there were signs posted stating that for non-urgent cases, you could expect to wait perhaps 3-4 hours to be seen, and in some cases up to 8 hours. I overheard someone across the room grumble about having been there since 10:30 pm and I began to get nervous. The night air and car ride had soothed Evie, and she was feeling curious about her new surroundings. Still, she was exhausted and not feeling her best, and I knew it was a matter of time before we hit serious Disintegration Mode.

As the time passed and little progress was made to see those in line before us, I began to feel a little desperate. She needed to be seen, even though it didn't appear that she was critically ill, but I worried we were doing more harm that good to have her out of bed for hours on end in the middle of the night. With no end in sight, it was a very horrible and helpless feeling to rock the little ball of hurt and know there just wasn't anything to be done but wait.

It felt like forwever, but we were seen after waiting for an hour and a half. The doctor examined her--by this time, whether due to a second wind or the excitement of a new place, she was all smiles and joy. We totally felt like idiots, like when you bring your car into the mechanic because it's been sounding like it's about to explode only suddenly, upon examination, it purrs like a kitten. He checked her over thoroughly though and pronounced that she has a case of croup. (I'd like to advise whoever is in charge of naming things to come up with a different name for this infection, because "CROUP" sounds AWFUL.) From what we've observed, her case is fairly mild, thank goodness, although the doc said it can last up to 2 weeks. Thankfully, Justin's class hasn't yet begun, so if we're in for a lot of sleepless nights, at least we can cover eachother for naps during the day.

It was a relief to have a diagnosis and course of action that night for sure. It's also a blessing to have good friends like Eric, who don't so much as blink when you rush to the emergency room three hours after welcoming them into the house, leaving them alone with a crazy Hugarian as company.

Last night Evie slept just fine, although she has been definitely feeling under the weather.

Chokydar is still getting used to Eric.

Sharing Again...

Evie woke up yesterday from her post-shot nap feeling fabulous. I'm not kidding. She's all smiles and sunshine, all yesterday evening and through this morning. Amazing. Perhaps I should inject her with weakened live-viruses more often... (just kidding)

This morning while she was napping I was perusing babble.com and came across some thought provoking articles--too many to share, actually (but check out this one if you've got the time!). Through link clicking, however, I ended up at the personal blog of one of their contributors, The Happiest Mom. For all of you children-having-types, check it out for sure. That link is for an article entitled "WOHMs, WAHMs, SAHMs: who wins the “unhappiest” award?" and it hits home a topic that I've been mulling around for quite some time now--the fact that what is right for YOU, isn't right for EVERYONE and that simply because it's right for YOU doesn't make it better.

This thought, of course, doesn't just apply to parenting, but to just about aspect of life. I can't stand fish or ketchup, but I recognize that there's nothing fundamentally wrong about either. For many people, hanging out at the bar is their idea of a good time--I can think of few things I'd less like to do.

It's been an adjustment living in an Army community. Always before in my life I'd naturally gravitated to people with shared interests. Inevitably they understood me, because they were like-minded. In this community it's been something of a different story. I'm something of an oddball here--from my views on feminism to parenting to the way I enjoy spending my free time. I feel confident about what I believe until I'm face to face with someone looking at me with a distressed and pitying expression as I answer the "What have you been up to lately?" question. My idea of a good time is not theirs, and they worry for me, which I guess in a way is sweet. The only thing is, I feel the same baffled confusion over how they chose to spend their time, but I'm so in the minority I lose by default.

Of course the really incidious thing is that there are certain choices that probably are better than others. I think we all worry to some extent about the choices we make--as a parent, financially, spiritually, personally, etc. We seek to compare our choices with those around us, not out of some petty quest to put the other person in their place, but rather to gain a personal validation of the decision we've made and are hoping is the right choice.

Wow, all that before 10 am.

It is nice to be needed. Now go to bed.

The past few days Evie's been adjusting her schedule once again. She's been taking frequent but short naps during the day--maybe three, each only about 30 minutes long. She wakes from them still tired, but wanting to get up. Her appetite has increased and she's exploring new ways of climbing on things; just today she discovered how to step up backwards onto an 6 inch elevated surface while holding the side of her toy basket for balance support. She is so pleased with herself, I'm torn between sharing in her joy and wanting to bang my head against a door in frustration at the increasing number of ways she's finding to fall off of things.

For months now I've been enjoying a very privileged existence where Evie will nurse herself to sleep and then I simply lower her into the crib where she stretches out like a little lamb and is out like a light without another peep (please, don't hate me). I know how lucky this is. I am thankful for it EVERY NIGHT. The past few nights, however, she's nursed to sleep, but woken immediately upon meeting the surface of the mattress. She startles awake as if I've just thrown ice water on her, and is horrified at the fact that she's no longer in my arms. When she was a newborn if this sort of thing happened, you were, well...pretty much screwed. Now however, I've found that as long as I keep her lying down (sometimes easier said than done these days), I've got a chance at getting her to sleep.

As I stood there in the dark the other night, bent over double to reach her over the side of the crib, gently stroking her back and humming softly, it came to me that I've finally and fully arrived at a phase of motherhood which I have long been awaiting. Before I became a mother, I had this notion that the baby would immediately be calmed by the sight of me, by my sheer presence or the sound of my voice. I was in for a rude shock when Evie first arrived and my beautiful squalling little worm-baby could not be consoled by anything but a mouthful of boob. Now, many months ago Evie left behind her no-eye-contact, inconsolable phase and has gradually come to count on me for comfort in all the ways I had once imagined. For some reason, though, it hit home the other night as it had never done before.

There she was, sleepy, but not asleep, aware of my presence--needing my presence to feel safe and warm and fall asleep. I stroked her back and she lazily plopped her foot over and over again into the mattress. I quietly sang to her and she grasped my finger in her still tiny hand. After ten minutes of this, I (maybe more accurately my back) was painfully aware that she's not the only one getting older in the coming week, yet I also had a warm fuzzy feeling that came from the knowledge that I was able to be for her exactly what she needed me to be. She's getting older and won't always need me to help her fall asleep, but in the meantime, I'm here.

Who ya gonna call?

Justin turned to me the other day and said, "If I'd have known the pain of this moment, I don't think I would have ever become a father." And we're just getting started, folks. I have a feeling the pain we've felt ain't nothin' yet.

The pain of which I speak was a result of seeing Evie in pain after she face-planted into the floor the other night. It didn't actually look like a bad spill. There have been tumbles that have looked catastophic only to have her giggle and carry on as if nothing happened. Other times, a seemingly small bump will turn the world upside down. It was right before bed the other night when she decided to taste the floor with her nose and from her screaming I knew it was one that needed comforting rather than the old, "Ah, you're okay, come on let's go!" When I picked her up and brushed her post-bath hair out of her face though, her little mouth was covered in blood and her upper lip had already begun to swell.

At moments like this I've discovered there's nothing more in the world that you want as a parent than to make it right. Stop the pain. Fix the hurt. Travel back in time and prevent it from ever happening. I would have given anything to have my lip busted in her place, and from the look of fear on Justin's face, I knew he was thinking the same thing.

Here's where it gets tricky as a first time parent. You don't know how bad is bad. Was this a bad enough bump that she needed medical attention? She was exhausted and ready for bed and the only real option available for medical care was to stick her in the car, bleeding and screaming and drive 30 minutes to the hospital emergency room. I tried calling the hospital, just to talk to someone who could reassure me that she was okay--that there wouldn't be anything they could do about this kind of injury anyway, but the number listed in our phone index was wrong (of course). Still needing reassurance and phone in hand, I dialed the next number almost automatically--home. My dad answered the phone, thrilled to have a surprise call, and then settled down into comfort mode when he heard our plight. He assured me of everything I was already thinking--that it didn't sound that bad, that the fact that she was acting normally once more, giggling and smiling was indication that she was fine. He recalled times my brother and sister and I were injured, from scrapes to stitches and sympathized at our feelings of helplessness as new parents experiencing it for the first time from the other side.

So we didn't take her to the emergency room, and she's just fine. She's not even fussy at meal times, as I feared she might be from pain in her mouth. I'm amazed at her resiliance and terrified by her brazen recklessness. She's more on the move than ever. She has no sense of "the edge" and Justin mused aloud the other day about whether she'd crawl right off the Grand Canyon without hesitation. She's standing for a few seconds on her own now, so I know walking must be not too far behind. She's also decided that sitting in the bathtub is for suckers. This has greatly complicated my life. By the end of bathtime, I'm nearly as wet as her from baby-wrestling.

Regrets, I Have a Few by Merrin Dungey

I read this article in Parents magazine and got a real kick out of it. It's quite funny, I think mostly because I know exactly what she's talking about. For those of you who are sharing in this crazy trip of motherhood, I think you'll enjoy it too. I don't know if it will hit home with you "not-children-having" types, but if you feel like clicking through, by all means, do. If nothing else, it will provide you an opportunity to sigh and shake your head in an exasperated but amused way, "Oh, those people with babies. It can't be like they make it out to be..."

If in the future you then make the transition from being a "not-children-having type" to one of us, maybe you'll think back on this article, look it up in the archives and go, "OH!!!"

In the meantime, fill your houses with dangerously sharp objects, appreciate your body, take a leisurely shower and a ridiculously long time getting ready in the morning, and sleep in until 10 am for me. Or even 8. Gee, I'd even kill for 7:30...

Still, I wouldn't trade her for the world.

C IS for Cookie

I remember thinking the world had gone too far when I heard that "they" had come out with "A Cookie is a Sometimes Food" to try and teach Cookie Monster that it's not okay to eat a diet comprising entirely of baked goods. The entire point of Cookie Monster is that his diet is wholly unrealistic and therefore an example of what not to do--isn't it obvious that you shouldn't subsist on cookies alone (however much I wish it were possible...)?

I feel a bit insulted sometimes by culture today. I think we miss out on something when the world is too sanitized--when it's not okay to find humor in our flaws and weaknesses and--gasp--even in the flaws and weaknesses of others. As I think about lessons I hope to pass along to Evelyn (for instance--self acceptance, compassion, social tact...) I also am aware that I want her to recognize that there IS such a thing as an undesirable quality. Winning is typically preferred over losing (although there are valuable lessons to be learned from being the loser). Being fit mentally and physically isn't as hard as society might have you believe and while it's good to love yourself as you are, you should also be the best you can be. You should not allow others to make you feel guilty for your success--nerds rule in the end. I'm really going stream of consciousness here and rambling more than making sense--but I think you catch my drift.

I came across this article today on Babble, Parenting Without Fear. The article is along the same lines as another article I had posted previously, The Overparenting Crisis and discusses the fact that parents fear for their children today over things that in generations past were considered safe--even wholesome. Now, I'm not saying that there aren't areas of parenting that have changed over time for the better. You can't argue the statistics that show it's safer for newborns to sleep on their backs rather than tummies to help prevent SIDS (although my mother managed to successfully raise three tummy sleepers...) or that seat belt safety should be taken seriously (we used to ride unbelted as children around the neighborhood...it was a favorite game to go all floppy and allow yourself to roll around the backseat as the car turned...) but since when did we worry that our kids are going to end up with less than 800 on their SAT verbals because in most strollers, they sit facing the street and not their mother? In the article, I discovered that the released versions of "old school" Sesame Street come with A WARNING at the beginning that labels them "for adults only." No joke.

Well, rebel that I am, I think I just may let my child watch (GASP!) Sesame Street. What kind of parent am I???

Oh, and here's a link for "adult eyes only" so you can enjoy some classic Sesame Street moments too.

Unorthodox, yet effective.

There are certainly stylistic differences in our child care techniques we've discovered over the last week, as illustrated by this short video clip...




Also, though completely unrelated, Evelyn was STANDING in her crib this morning when I went to get her out of bed! STANDING!!!!

Thanks, but no thanks

Oh those crazy Germans...

Okay, to follow up on last post; I took Evelyn in to the clinic yesterday to try and have her seen by a nurse. We were able to be seen, but the nurse wasn't much help. She basically wasn't willing to say that Evie didn't have jaundice (she said it didn't look like it to her)--she said we should be seen by a doctor. Sigh. She recommended that we go up to the patient liason office and go to the krankenhaus (German hospital) here in Baumholder. So we went.

I could make this a waaaay longer story than it needs to be, but I'll try to keep it relatively short. Just to give you a sense of the experience though, as I was in the moment I couldn't help but think to myself that I was experiencing a sensation I hadn't since I was a VERY small child--the sense of being herded around having people talk over you and not fully understanding what's going on. It wasn't a pleasant feeling at all, especially because I was trying to make an informed decision about the health of our child. Anyway, here's what happened:

The doctor looked like a cross between a German Colonel Sanders and the actor Michael York. He was dressed in snugly fitted white clothes from head to foot, including his shoes and belt; even hair was white. His English was certainly better than my German, but that's not saying much. He was VERY difficult to understand, and gave short, sharp directions like, "take her clothes off!" He had like, negative bedside manner. Evie was being brave, but he wasn't doing anything to try and keep her calm. When at one point she began to look as if she might cry, he shoved a woven basket full of candy at her. I'm talking little plastic packages (choking hazard) of sugar coated (!!!!) root beer flavored gummy candy (CHOKING HAZARD) at my nine month old infant. And I'm supposed to take his medical opinion seriously? He was losing points quickly. Evie stared at him teary eyed as if to say, "Dude, don't you know I'm a BABY? I don't eat candy..."

He asked me, "What's wrong with her?"
"Ummm, nothing really is wrong. She's just, kind of, orange. I wanted to make sure it's not jaundice and that everything's okay."
He looked at her, poked and podded a bit and said, "It's not jaundice."
Then he followed with, (I'm translating here, because his english was not this clear) "We will do blood work and ultrasound."

What?

She doesn't have jaundice, so you're going to do bloodwork and an ultrasound...I was seriously confused and thought I must have misunderstood him. I tried to clarify, but all I could get out of him was that he thought she needed extra testing. I couldn't understand why, but I'm not a doctor, and it's a bit daunting to decline when a doctor tells you you should have a test run on your child. I was NOT pleased that Evie would have to be put through extra stress, but we wandered up stairs to have the blood work done.

Did I say I was going to try and keep this brief? Ooops...

Neither the blood work lady or the ultrasound technician spoke english. At all. The lady babbled on and ON in German to Evelyn, obviously smitten with her, and Evie didn't seem to mind. I have to say, it kind of creeped me out though; she was a bit scary. The ultrasound guy understood me when I said "orange." I'm not sure he fully understood why we were getting an ultrasound either. He showed me her stomach, her kidneys, her liver--all were present and accounted for, and looked normal (surprise, surprise...). But wait! Where's her gallbladder? Hmmmm

He couldn't find it. DoctorColonelMichaelYorkSanderstein was called in to try and find it. Why are we even looking for her gallbladder??? The doctor found it, but exclaimed that it was contracted because she had a full tummy. (She hadn't eaten in about 4 hours.) He tells me, "Come back tomorrow at 9 in the morning. Don't feed her." Oh, and at this point he also says, "Do you feed her....(he turns to try and find the word from his non-english speaking assistant)...carrots?"

"Yes," I replied, "That's what I sort of thought it was from the beginning..."

"Stop feeding her carrots. Don't do that anymore."

...

He was already walking out of the room when I protested the summons to come back the next day. "She wakes between 5 and 7 and is HUNGRY. Why does she need to be seen again? What is the problem? Can we be seen earlier if it's necessary?"

"No, we don't come in until 9. Don't feed her." He leaves.

I was totally frustrated, confused, and at a loss. Why was I even doing all of this? THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH EVELYN, except that she sort of looks like she's eaten too many Oompa Loompas.

I called the patient liason office when we got home and tried to explain my frustration and ask for help. They said they'd call over and see what the doctor was concerned about and if it was necessary for me to go in again.

They called back to tell me he'd already gone home. They said he's probably just checking to make sure she doesn't have any other problems and that it should be alright to let her eat a little when she first wakes up before we go in. Sigh. In the back of my head I KNEW that it was just SILLY to go in again, but he'd made it seem so important to see her gallbladder, I couldn't help but have this fear--what if there IS something wrong with her gallbladder and I don't have her checked and something happens to her? So we went this morning and had a SECOND ultrasound.

When I first saw the doc this morning he looks at me as if he'd never seen us before and asked, "So what's wrong with her?"

I stared at him for a minute, like, "you're kidding, right?"

"Ummmmm....Nothing's wrong with her...she's orange. You said to come back so you could check her gallbladder..."

"Of course nothing's wrong with her. Of course I remember. Take off her clothes."

He poked her some more and said, "It's just orange here in her face."

"Ummmm..." I said, "I see it all over, really."

"Yes of course."

?!?!?!?!

(Have I mentioned lately how much I can't wait to get back to America?)

Ok, now this officially isn't just not brief, it's probably much longer than most regular posts...

So during 9 month old infant's SECOND ultrasound, he finds her gallbladder, and SURPRISE! it's totally normal. He sees her stomach full of liquid on the monitor and says, "You fed her."

"You caught me," I said, loathing him.

"She has a full bladder. Let's do a urine test."

WHAT?!?!?!!?!?! WHY?

"Why?"

"To check."

"Wait, do you think anything is wrong with her or are you just doing this because you think I want you to? If it's not jaundice and everything looks okay, I'm fine. She acts normally. She's happy and healthy. She's just orange. Her urine looks normal. Her poop is normal. Why do you need to get a urine sample?"

"Come to my office. To check." He walked out of the room.

I dressed Evelyn and told her we were leaving. I poked my head in the room and told him, "You know, I think we're just going to go. I don't think she needs a urine test." (How do you get a 9 month old girl to pee in a cup anyway?? It's hard enough when I have to do it...) He looked at me all concerned and confused with the little platic cup in his hand and was like, "But the urine test!"

"Yeah, I feel comfortable that she's okay. Thanks, though."

"Why don't you take it with you. Take it with you and when you get the chance, have her go in it and then you can bring it back."

I am not even kidding you.

I nearly refused, but I thought it would just be simpler to take the cup and go. Plus, I thought, I can take a picture of the urine sample cup we're NOT going to pee in and post it on tomatobear.




So, Evelyn is apparently fine. Just a little orange.

In which I nearly cry in public

The New Parent Support group on post organizes an annual car safety check event. I remember last year I wanted to go, but we didn't yet have our car seat, so I just obsessively researched how to install it myself. For some reason it was one of those things I was REALLY stressing about. It was probably all of the statistics floating out there..."7 out of 10 car seats are installed incorrectly! Is YOUR child safe?" I had this mental block that the installation was going to be close to brain surgery and was dreading it. I read the manual. I looked online at videos. I fretted. And finally, I installed the seat. It was so quick and easy, I sat there staring at it thinking 'I must be missing something.' After double checking all latches, hooks, buckles, levers, and reclining angles multiple times, I finally came to the conclusion that I felt comfortable and satisfied with the job I'd done. Score one for me. I think I'd been stressing more about the car seat installation that labor.

Fast forward until December...or was it January...whenever we got Evie's new convertable car seat. I was so excited to get it and have it installed, because in my mind it was going to make certain aspects of our errand running much more smooth, but that's another story...

Anyway, I wasn't too stressed this time around about the installation because the infant seat installation had gone so smoothly and I considered myself something of an expert. I was unpleasantly surprised that it was NOT as intuitive for me as the first seat, and after a couple of failed attempts where I really had just guessed how things were supposed to go (the manual and pictures being of VERY little use) I came inside and did further research online. Now, as an art history major in college, I know something about references and the difference between a good and bad source of information. I didn't just YouTube videos on how to install a random car seat from the 80s; I went to the manufacturer's website, looked up my specific make and model of the seat, including the seat's manufacture date and found a very useful resource documenting clearly how to ensure proper installation.

I KNOW I did this, but me being me, I always doubt and question myself, and with today being the Car Seat Installation Check Day I thought I should go and have an "expert" take a look at it too. So here's where it gets fun...

I pull into the parking lot and am waved over into a spot. It's more crowded than I thought it would be, but I didn't have to wait in line, and a woman came over quickly with a clip board. I needed to fill out the form and sign a waiver (always comforting) and the woman offered to hold Evie while I did so. The first thing she said upon taking her was, "Brrrr! I bet you're cold!" Criticizing the weather appropriateness of my child's attire: Strike One. Evie wasn't too pleased being held by a stranger and I scrambled to get the form filled as quickly as I could. I got Evie back, self-consciously bundling her a little tighter in her blanket, and the woman began the inspection.

"Good, this is really snug..."
"Nice, this isn't twisted..."
"Perfect..."
"Looks really good..."
"Excellent..."
"Exactly..."
"Now, where do these straps fall on her--above her shoulders?"

"No, no, they're just below," I replied, the studious car seat installer I am.

"Good. And the buckle on her front?"

"Right at arm pit level," I shoot back. Do I get a sticker?

And then it happens. She looks behind the rear facing seat, between the seat and the passenger's chair where I have the car seat tethered to the floor board via the metal anchor of the front chair. She starts laughing. At first, I'm thinking to myself, Oh, I'm so good, she can hardly believe it, but then she says

"Oh wow. Hahahahaahaha. I've never seen this before. Well, maybe in photos. Of what NOT to do. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Mary, come here, you've got to see this! We should get a picture of this!"

I AM NOT KIDDING YOU.

I'm sitting there, holding our child, whose safety means more than anything to me--I'm there trying to be a responsible parent, making sure I'm doing the right thing, looking for support and encouragement, and SHE'S LAUGHING HYSTERICALLY AT MY "MISTAKE." Me being me, my eyes began to fill with tears.

This is the point when I acutally am sort of proud of myself, because where usually I might completely dissolve into sobs and kind of be incomprehensible for a few minutes, I held back my tears and said in a choked voice, "Just so you know, I take great offense at your reaction. I take my child's safety very seriously and you've made me feel really bad. I think that was a horrible thing to do."

She stopped laughing. Of course she hadn't meant to be mean, but it was a very insensitive thing to do to someone--well, at least someone like me. I am so much more sensitive to things like this, and somehow the universe knows this and throws people at me who push my buttons. I need to get a shirt that says, "WATCH OUT! You may be the straw that breaks the camel's back!" She apologized profusely and I could tell she felt genuinely sorry for her reaction, which had been innapropriate. She went on to explain that this isn't typically done in cars like ours--that usually there is a center fastener meant specifically for this type of tether. "Okay," I replied numbly, still trying to get my eyes to reabsorb the liquid that was brimming there. It's not as if I'd tried to secure the thing with bubble gum, rubber bands, staples, and hot glue. I was being thorough. I remembered specifically thinking that that extra tether seemed to be a bit over the top to me, but I remembered seeing it in a video and thought I should do it. In the meantime, another car seat checker came over and quietly said to my woman, "That woman over there got her car seat out of the dumpster...What do I tell her?" Funny, they weren't laughing hysterically at that woman.

Anyway, I pulled it together and she finished the check and was super extra polite to me the rest of the time. She installed the seat again, then I installed it again, and then the check was complete and we were free to go.

I came home and went online to try and find the video I'd seen. As I thought, it's on the manufacturer's website--check it out for yourself if you'd like! If you want to see just what I'm talking about, go to the third tab, "Installation Instructions" then click on the 13th slide, "Versa-Tether Installation." Hmmm, I don't know about you, but it sure seems to me that THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I'D DONE. Suddenly I don't look so crazy afterall...

I'm totally sending the link to the woman.

Oh Reginald...I DISAGREE!

I have another article to share with you! This one I came across in Elle Magazine, and is titled "Die, Mommy, Die!" I'm not sure who thought that was a good name, but I guess it does capture the tone of the article well. I found it interesting that this article was in a fashion magazine rather than a parenting one. I mean, it seems obvious why the article might not be so well received in a parenting magazine, but reading it, I got the feeling I'd overhead someone talking trash about me in a public bathroom while I was unseen in a stall.

In a way, Hass is speaking to the same "over-parenting" phenomenon as Granju, but I felt her tone and attitude were incredibly off-putting. She makes several good points about how she feels blathering on and on about your children at work to your co-workers is inappropriate, but in my experience, people can be horrible conversationalists in general, so why single out mothers?

She likens the question “Isn’t [having children] just the best thing you’ve ever done?” to the old Catch 22, "When did you stop beating your wife?" I can see how you'd feel painted in a poor light for answering 'no,' but I can't say I can indentify with that answer.

I'm a feminist. I went to a liberal womens' college. I count myself as one of Hass's described "smart, evolved, successful women." I believe that women are just as, if not sometimes more, capable as men in most endeavors. (This is a bigger side topic I won't go into now...) But I also HIGHLY value my role as a mother. I see it as a role that strengthens who I am, not dimishes me. I choose to devote myself "full time" to raising our children, rather than working outside of our home, and I do not think that makes me less successful than working mothers/women in ANY WAY. I'm not trying to give working mothers a hard time; I understand that some people need to or choose to work, and that's their call--but to imply that I am achieving less by "simply" being a stay at home mom is insulting.

Hass says

It’s not as though I don’t love my daughter. Or that I take her for
granted...But I have never once thought of her as the best thing I’ve ever done.
Perhaps that’s a function of having had a better-than average work life, but
it’s also because I’m loath to take credit for my daughter as an accomplishment.
Reproducing, even for me, who had to go to such lengths to become a mother,
doesn’t feel like a personal achievement; it’s just a natural part of the human
cycle. That’s one of the reasons I love being a parent; it’s comfortingly
prosaic, delightfully unremarkable. Can you imagine women in small Indian
villages standing around the local well asking for reassurance from the others
that having their brood of kids is “the best thing they’ve ever done”? It’s a
ready-made caption for a New Yorker cartoon.

Like I said, I see her point here, but I think her attitude sucks. I can't (and wouldn't) take credit for Evelyn as "an accomplishment," but the fact remains, nothing I will EVER do or create will rival the miracle that is HER. I say this not only because of who she is, but because of all that potentially can come from her as well. She is a human being! She can reason and has a soul! My contribution to the betterment and continuation of humanity through raising a good child would far outstrip the achievement of landing the top spot at a Fortune 500 company.

I think that by continuing to nurture myself and my interests and goals makes me a better mother. My life isn't entirely sacrificed on the altar of child-rearing, but there IS sacrifice involved and that too strengthens me.

When it comes down to it, I think I'm splitting hairs here. As a mentioned before, I see similarities between this article and the one I posted yesterday, but the tone is so different, I see one as successful and the other insulting.

What do you think?

Babble: The Over-Parenting Crisis

I came across this article last week and have been meaning to post it ever since. I've been thinking waaaaaay too much lately, but I guess that's something I've always done...

I recently bought a bunch of parenting books on amazon because I had this moment of crisis (ha ha, just a moment, Michele?) where I wondered "What if I'm doing this ALL WRONG?" I mean, without Justin here to even me out, what if I'm making huge errors, being over protective, holding her back, completely stunting her growth and development??? Now, if I'm being rational, I KNOW I'm doing a good job. I know it. She's doing great. But I still worry. And I have to wonder, is this just normal--mothers have always felt this way--or do I feel this way as a result of the hyper-parenting trend in our society? With all of the attention on celebrities' babies, all the "necessary" gear, all of the scary warnings out there about everything from vaccines to BPA-free plastics, it's hard to navigate through as a parent without getting swept up in the hype just a tiny bit.

I always breathe a sigh of relief when I come across an article like Granju's, because it bolsters my confidence and eases my worries (at least for a while). I sometimes feel that the message out there is, "if it isn't hard, you're not doing it right!" or "the more effort the better!" Instead of letting things unfold as they please, I have like it's my personal responsibility to make things happen. I should be rubbing Evelyn's gums and chanting over her while she's asleep in order to assure her teeth will eventually come out. She's not crawling/walking/composing sonnets yet? Exactly what have I been doing all day long?

Granju, while she is a leading advocate for "attachment parenting" describes her parenting philosophy as one of "benign neglect." She says

Until recently, the essential tasks of parenting were seen as nurturing and
socializing children. Today, however, this simple mandate seems criminally
neglectful. Now, parenting requires constant vigilance, unflagging attention to
every detail of our children's lives, and ever present monitoring of their every
activity.

While I agree wholeheartedly with her sentiment in the article, if I look at myself, I can see areas where I've succumbed to the hazards of obsessive worry and over-parenting. The fact that I waited to introduce Cheerios to the girl until she was almost 8 months old for fear she'd choke is, I know, silly. (I'm still nervous to continue introducing other "real" solid foods.) I still worry about her breathing at night, even though she is more than capable of getting herself out of a pickle--what she would suffocate on in her barren crib, I'm not sure, but I worry about it just the same. I worry that my lame-o housekeeping skills will make her ill, crawling around inhaling who knows what, and yet, the child has yet to have so much as a cold (knock on wood).

I think when it comes down to it, I have a lot more work to do on ME than HER.

This pretty much sums it up

This image pretty much sums up Evie for the past few days; tears and laughter {almost} in equal measure. I'm stuggling with the balance of letting her explore vs. protecting her from injury. By that I just mean, falling basically; there's not a bunch of marbles strewn across the floor or anything. She is really starting to, well, I call it her moonwalk crawl, because she's not up on her knees, but she sort of magically floats across the floor. She loves going from sitting into the moonwalk crawl, but unfortunately she hasn't yet mastered the smooth transition, and she often ends up face first in the carpet. Tears ensue. As you can see above, once comforted, she's just fine, often with the tears still making their way down her chubby little cheeks.

I'm finding this process really hard. How do I know if I'm doing okay? Allowing her enough freedom? Enough safety? Am I comforting her too much after a spill? I just don't quite know. I follow my gut and hope it's not as big of a deal as it seems right now.

It's Not Funny

It's April Fool's Day today and I have to admit that while I think I have a really good sense of humor, I don't really take jokes well, or perhaps better put--I don't take well to being the butt of a joke.

I don't actually know how true the following story is, but it's the way I recall the ordeal and for the purposes of my therapy sessions, that's what matters, right?

One year, when my sister and I were elementary school age (I don't think that my brother had started school yet), my parents decided to play an April Fool's Day joke on us. It must have been the end of a grading period or coincided with the beginning of spring break, or something, but for whatever reason, April Fool's Day fell on a school holiday that year. Denise and I were sitting on the floor in our pajamas playing on dad's (waaaaay old school) computer. The way I remember it, it might have been PacMan. Anyway, there we were, enjoying our day off, when the phone rang. I don't remember which of our parents answered the phone, only that the one sided conversation on our end sounded something like this:

"Hello?"

"Ah yes! How are you?"

"Really?? Oh no..."

"Of course! They're right here..."

And then the phone was passed to one of us, maybe both of us in turn. The voice on the other end said something like this:

"Hello. This is Mr. Davis, principle at Moore Elementary. I'm wondering why you aren't at school today. This is a school day, and everyone else is here..."

From this point things get a bit fuzzy, as I may have blacked out from panic and fear. You have to understand that my sister and I were model students, and I guess, pretty gullible too. I seem to remember bursting into tears and streaking frantically into the other room to try and dress for school. Life was over.

Like I said, I'm not really sure how much of that story is actually true. I'm pretty sure that one April Fool's Day, a friend of the family called pretending to be the school principal--as for the accuracy of the rest, we're going to have to check with my sister and parents. I'm not sure if it was something my parents thought up or not. I have to wonder, if it was, at what point they realized that they may have gone too far and had to try and talk us down from the tearful and terrified frenzy in which found ourselves. If that part was even as bad as I remember.

So, I've never much liked April Fool's Day. It always seems to me to be a very mean spirited day. That being said, looking back, after all the tears were dried, I can't help but wonder if my parents got a good laugh out of the whole thing. I mean, come on, it must have been pretty funny. We were so serious and studious. Who would have thought we'd take it so dramatically? It's something I sometimes ponder now as a parent myself--how can I avoid (as much as possible) being insensitive to my child's sensitivities? To some extent, it will be unavoidable, and I suppose that's just part of life.

Thinking about this today, I remembered this video I saw a long time ago on You Tube. You may have seen it already, but I thought it tied in perfectly today, what with laughing at a child's obvious heartfelt concern. Terrible, right? I know. Just try not to laugh though...

Sloppy face girl

Meal time is very, very messy. Evelyn "helps" me feed her and often resorts to putting her fist in her mouth as well, just to make sure the food stays in. Then of course, what are you to do if your nose or eye itches? Hence, rice cereal face girl. It's in her hair, it's in her nostrils. She's thrilled.

Tonight she was eating peas. She's discovered that if she does her raspberry noise while there is food in her mouth, mommy gets a nice pea shower. Joy. It was actually pretty hilarious, and I sat there cracking up as she covered me with shots of pea splatter. Gross, I know. I agree.

It's against my nature to let her get this messy. I want to control the chaos and wipe her face off after every third spoonful. I'm stopping myself, however, because I'm thinking of lessons I hope to impart to her, one of which is, "It's okay to get really messy." Sometimes in life, you'll miss out if you don't, and you can always clean off again. In fact, it makes getting clean even more enjoyable.

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas--even though here it's now the 26th. Just got the girl to sleep...well, in her crib that is. She was sleeping on my lap while I watched "It's A Wonderful Life." That movie gets me every time, and now it fits in with the growing list of things that are hitting me harder now that Evie is around.

This is just the first batch of many more pictures to come. We played around last night and some today taking some "official" first Christmas pictures. Evelyn's been getting better everyday at sitting on her own, or with very little assistance, and so when she had herself propped up tripod style--using her arms to keep sitting upright--I backed a little further away than I should to try and take the picture. She didn't realize that her arms needed to stay in place to keep her face from having an impromptu date with the floor, and thus, down she went--face first into the carpet.

She was really alright, but the shock was definitely jarring and I felt awful because it happened while I was busy trying to take her picture. She cried for a few minutes until I was able to calm her down. Although it was the first, I know it won't be the last time she takes a nose dive, and it's something I'm going to have to work on dealing with. My tendency--I think it is so with many mothers--is to try and save her from any pain, any frustration, any failure. And while, of course, some protection is good and even necessary, I must let her live outside my little bubble of safety, or I will be doing far much more harm than good. Anyway, it seemed noteworthy that it happened for the first time, and we both came through it unscathed.

Justin was able to watch us open presents on Skype. Evie enjoyed the wrapping paper and thought it looked tasty. We got lots of fun things--new music, books, and even a pair of thick woolen socks (yay!). It certainly wasn't the same not having Justin here in person, but all things considered, it was as nice of a Christmas as I imagine it could have been. Evie and I hooked up with the family back in Texas, again via Skype, later in the afternoon which was fun.

Chokydar got a new bone, but hasn't quite figured out what to do with it yet because it doesn't appear to have any stuffing to pull out.

More pictures to come...

Odds and ends

Life is full of paperwork and red tape. You must apply and be accepted to go to college. Don't forget to apply for scholarships, federal aid, housing and all the rest. Fall in love? You'll need to get a marriage certificate and sometimes pre-marital counselling is offered. Heck, before we got Chokydar we were submitted to a puli-background check of sorts to make certain we would be suitable puli owners, so it strikes me as slightly odd now and then that you can enter into one of the most life altering and meaningful commitments--creating a human life--with no applications, screenings, or even so much as a questionnaire.

Sometimes I find myself thinking there should have been a manual issued before conception, warning of all the prerequisites necessary for parenthood. In this imaginary manual I imagine there would be a section mentioning that previous experience as a body builder is beneficial for mothers. From the actual carrying of the child 9+ months in the womb to, well, EVERY DAY SINCE, there has been a pretty tremendous burden placed on my body that I frankly wasn't quite prepared for. I consider myself a fairly active person, but as this child grows, I'm suddenly finding myself doing a lot of (what seems to my back) heavy lifting. Today I made a trip to the commissary to get a larger than usual load of groceries, lugged a large box of Christmas presents to be mailed to Justin and checked the mail to find two BIG boxes (more on this in a bit), all with babe in tow. Thank goodness I ran into a good friend at the mail room who helped me carry the boxes to the car. When I got home, it took me four trips back and forth (up and down icy steps no less) to get everything inside (not counting Evie). I was literally suffering from muscle fatigue as I collapsed in my chair and cursed the fact that my husband isn't and won't be here for MONTHS to give me a much needed back rub.

***WARNING***

****JUSTIN, DO NOT READ THE FOLLOWING ANECDOTE UNTIL AFTER CHRISTMAS OR YOU WILL SPOIL ONE OF YOUR PRESENTS!!!****

As I mentioned before, I took a box of gifts to be mailed downrange to Justin for Christmas. The mail can take forever to get there and so I was trying my best to get it off early. I hope a month is enough in advance...Anyway, you have to fill out a customs form for everything you send, and for this particular box my customs form listed 4 books and 4 DVDs. So the mail clerk is looking everything over and stops when reviewing the customs form.

Clerk: "What kind of DVDs?"

Me: "Ummm....the kind you watch?" Seriously, what kind of question is that?

Clerk: "No no, like what kind?"

Me: Racking my brain..."Well, there's a John Wayne movie..."

Clerk: "Ok, we'll say action."

Me: "Ah! Okay, genre."

Clerk: "We have to make sure it's not porn."

Me: "............."

This is when I stop and am confronted with several thoughts:

1. Do I, young wife and mother of infant, look like the kind of person who mails porn to my deployed husband?

2. If I were that kind of person, how likely would I be to admit that said porn was in the box.

3. If I were that person, and furthermore admitted to mailing porn, would they then make me take the porn out of the box right then and there??

I regain the ability to speak.

Me: ".....Yeah, unless it's some kind of freaky John Wayne porn, I think we're safe."

Clerk: "I didn't really need to hear that."

****JUSTIN, YOU ARE NOW SAFE TO CONTINUE READING****

For my last anecdote of the evening, back to the previously mentioned two BIG boxes I picked up at the mail room today. Looking them over it was clear they were from Pottery Barn. I had ordered two of the same item, modular linen tiles as seen below.


Lugging the boxes inside I couldn't help but be confused. One box was about the size I would expect to house a "modular linen tile." The other box was significantly bigger and definitely heavier. I opened the smaller box first and found, yes, one "modular linen tile" and the packing slip stating that the other "modular linen tile" was shipped separately. Eying the other box I couldn't help but worry that I'd starting ordering things online during my sleep. I opened the second box and found another "modular linen tile." And another. And ANOTHER. And ANOTHER. AND ANOTHER. I kid you not. I ordered two. They sent SIX.

I checked back over the packing statement. Definitely two. I checked my credit card statement. I paid for two. Super. Maybe the funniest part to me was reading a line from the little customer service blurb on the packing statement:

"...We carefully inspect your order prior to shipment..."

Somebody dropped the ball on this one.

I just got off the phone with the customer service people at Pottery Barn. When I initially explained the situation the woman said, "Ah ok. Sorry for the mix up. I'll dispatch a pick up to retrieve the extra items."

"Ummm...that might be a bit of a challenge...I live in Germany."

"....Hold please."

About a minute later she came back on the line and said that given the circumstances of living abroad and that it was their fault, I would not be charged for the extra "modular linen tiles" and could keep them.

Merry early Christmas to me!!!

Are you finished yet?

Last night Julia and I went to Chili's. Although I worried how she would handle it, Evelyn behaved marvelously (at least until the last few minutes...we'll get to that in just a bit...). Evie just soaked in the noises and movement in the dimly lit restaurant, wide eyed but calm. She spent some time in her car seat and also "sat" in my lap.

Our waitress came to the table almost immediately after we were seated and asked if we were ready to order. I really knew what I wanted, but the abruptness with which she showed up questioning us took me by surprise and we asked her for a few more minutes. She dropped her pad and quickly strode off. When she came back a few minutes later and prompted us again, I requested the Turkey Combo. It's one of my favorites at Chili's and usually what I order. I was especially craving it last night.

"Oh, sorry. I forgot to tell you. We're out of turkey," the waitress blurted.

I thought she was kidding.

"We're also out of iced tea, draft beer, and Jack Daniels."

"Jack Daniels? Great, that ruins my evening," I said, bouncing Evie on my lap.

But seriously, they were out of turkey. I very nearly gave her a hard time by asking for the Cajun turkey sandwich instead, but thought better of it. I ordered a burger.

We were working on dinner with Evie more or less cooperating. She began to be fussy in the car seat at one point, so I held her while working on the burger one handed. It's a wonder that all mothers aren't ambidextrous after a few months. I was eating more slowly because of this arrangement and there was still maybe a quarter of my burger and more than half of the fries remaining when our waitress, Speedy Gonzales, showed back up and asked if we were finished. Julia and I had talked earlier about getting dessert, so I just let her take my plate. In one swift move she'd cleared the plates, laid down our bill on the table and was gone.

About this time Evie was getting really tired, but there was no way she was going to fall asleep in the hustle of the restaurant without a little help. I'd brought my nursing cover and diaper bag this time (lesson learned from the Thai restaurant), so we commenced the awkward juggle I have not yet mastered that is nursing in public. Evelyn was happily eating and the waitress came back, expecting us to have paid and instead we ordered a dessert--the chocolate chip brownie thing they have with ice cream and walnuts and mmmmm.....

In another minute it arrived, and since I was still occupied, Julia slowly started in on dessert. She was taking her time since I couldn't yet dive in, but even after Evie finished we weren't wolfing it down. I laughed and remarked how when Justin and I order a dessert to split, there's none of the dainty restraint Julia and I were showing. Justin and I usually dive in and sometimes duel spoons at the end to see who gets the last bite. (He always lets me win.) Julia said it was the same way with her husband, and still there we were, trying to be quite lady-like and restrained with one another. ;) We continued nibbling, thoroughly enjoying ourselves and in no particular rush.

"Are you finished with that?"

The waitress had popped out of nowhere and was reaching for the plate, about a third of the brownie thing still perfectly intact. Julia and I reflexively lunged forward, shielding the plate and blurted, "No!" Ahem..."No, no, I don't think we're quite finished yet."

Once we actually were finished, I decided that I'd better check Evie's diaper before we headed home. The evening had gone so well, I didn't want to spoil it by discovering a leak halfway to the car. I gathered my precious baby up in my arms and made my way to the rear of the restaurant where I saw that there was a room especially for changing babies. Cool. As I opened the door we stepped out of the relaxing glow of the barely lit restaurant and into the cruel and stark world of the florescently lit changing room. Evie looked up to see not her mother, but a horrifying ax murder who had assumed my form. Seriously, the look on her little face was one of pure terror and shock and I INSTANTLY regretted going into the room. If I were to do it over again, at that moment I would have walked right back out--maybe she would have calmed back down. Instead I pig-headedly thought she was just mildly started and would settle down as I changed her. Not. The. Case. She screamed with more fury and intensity than I have ever heard from her, and like I said, it wasn't just any old cry--she was terrified. I tried cuddling her and rocking her, and even did a little impromptu nursing standing right there in the changing station. I did the quickest diaper change in history and gathered her back up, still screaming bloody murder, hoping she'd calm down when we re-entered the restaurant. It helped a little, but at this point she was gone. I motioned to Julia that we were headed to the car. The commotion we caused as we left was considerable and I'm sure that some people wondered if they should call child protective services or if this was a ploy to get out of paying the bill.

It was only after we were back in the car and I nursed Evie once again that she calmed down. As I strapped her into her car seat she gave me a sleepy smile as if to say, "Oh! Thank God! It's you again! Where were you 10 minutes ago in the bathroom?" She doesn't seem traumatized by the event, but I think I'm scarred. I've never felt so helpless and horrible.

And I still want my turkey sandwich...

You're doing what?

"You're doing what? Ha. Okay, let me know how long that lasts."

I heard this phrase and several close varients whenever word got out that I was planning to use cloth diapers. (Since when did it become a hot topic what I cover my baby's bum in?) I'm not sure why it matters so much to people, but they all feel the need to tell me their opinion on the subject. And when I say 'opinion' I mean tell me that it's a foolish idea that I will regret and abandon quickly.

I must admit, I began to be a little nervous about it myself when, much to my chagrin, the one-size-fits-all cloth diapers I had intended to use with Evie from birth were much too big for a newborn. They would have swallowed her at 7 lbs 4.5 oz, and so I reluctantly busted out the disposables that I'd been given (against my wishes) for the day when my cloth diaper pipe dreams failed. Once using the disposables, I worried that in comparison I wouldn't want to switch to cloth--that I'd be spoiled to the convenience of simply throwing the thing away. A few weeks ago I tested Evie in the cloth diapers for the first time.

Soon my fears were assuaged and after about a week now of using only the cloth diapers, I'm getting fully into the routine with them and am quite pleased. They are washing very well and aren't at all the hassle I'd feared. Evie seems to like them and I'm pleased we're not creating as much waste as we were before. I mean, this girl can poop. It boggles the mind to imagine a pile out there somewhere of all the used diapers she could go through.