The first week of cloth diapering has been pretty easy. Until today. I was nursing the little bean, trying to top her off before we got in the car to pick up Emile from preschool. Giovanna HATES the car (or perhaps she just hates being strapped into her car seat with no one to hold and love her). Therefore, I have also developed a hatred for car rides in which I am completely helpless and cannot answer my sweet baby’s frantic cries.
Anyways. I am nursing Giovanna and she starts pooping. She’s letting them rip. One after the other after the other. I start to remove her pants while she’s still attached to the boob in attempt to preserve their cleanliness. No such luck. The soft, seedy, mustard-colored bowel movement has already escaped. Oozed. I carry her upstairs to change her and find a record-breaking amount of poop. The largest poop of Giovanna’s life thus far. It is everywhere, including my shirt, the floor, the moby wrap (which I was still wearing from our earlier walk), her clothes, my bed (don’t ask), my hands, and best of all, my still-exposed nipple.
Being the laid-back mom that I am, I took it all in stride. Congratulating Giovanna on such a huge poop, I piled all of the affected garments in the laundry machine. One clean diaper and one new outfit later, we were good to go. I had let my very long hair loose from it’s usual braid (the baby likes to grab my hair by the fistful) and was enjoying the wavy look. Then Giovanna decided to spit up in my hair. Yummy.
No big deal. Only a few strands, really. I rinsed the sour, curdled milk out of my hair, wiped the spit off of the baby’s face, and was on my way. So much for the pretty, wavy hair.
It was all good until about halfway to the preschool when she started screaming. And I started to hit every light as it was turning red. No joke. I think I counted 4 in a row. After finally calming down Giovanna, which involved lots of bouncing, I nursed her in the car in the parking lot of the school for about 25 minutes.
About 2 minutes out of the daycare, Emile in tow, the screaming from the backseat commences. We stop at Whole Foods. I navigate through the store with a 3 year old pushing one of those mini-carts for me and a suckling baby in the sling, my modesty preserved by a blanket draped over my shoulder. Sometimes I use no blanket (yes, I nurse in public, no cover), but I was worried about Giovanna getting cold, so the blanket seemed appropriate.
Emile got a special treat (mac’n’cheese from the prepared foods bar), I got a big carton of the hearty Lebanese Vegetable Soup so I wouldn’t have to cook tonight, we picked out some apples and mangos and were on our way.
Rather than boring you with the remaining sordid details, suffice it to say that Emile and I ate both of our treats in the car, waiting for Giovanna to nurse it out. Hopefully until she felt calm and comforted enough to face the long, scary car ride alone. (By this point, she was nursing for comfort, not nourishment.) No such luck. She screamed the entire way home.
But you know what? The only thing that bothered me even in the slightest was that my baby was upset. The poop, the spit up, the time spent nursing in the car and in the store. Minor inconveniences, I can sail through them in a good mood. But once Giovanna isn’t happy, I become frazzled and distressed. Must be a mother’s love.
And if you are still contemplating the cloth diapers, I won’t blame them for the poopy incident. I don’t think I had secured the cloth tightly enough. Not to mention that I don’t think there is a diaper out there that could have withstood Giovanna today.
Here she is, passed out for a record amount of time after all of the energy expended on crying…she refuses to wake up.
This is what she looks like while crying. Maybe she doesn’t like the hat.
And this is what she looks like on a happier day.