Badonkadonk
Now I’m someone who proudly rocks some junk in my trunk, but the Bug has taken it to all new levels.
You see, while I was pregnant I made the decision that I would be a cloth diapering Mama (remember how I run this little eco-biz with my sis?! The COOLEST reusable bag on the block?! And how if you don’t own one already, you’re missing out on the fun and should get on that!? And, BYOB while you’re at it.)
Enough with the shameless plug. What I’m getting at is that babies are highly UNsustainable critters, and disposable diapers are one of the leading reasons for their monsterous carbon footprint. In thinking about ways to have my child only imprint on the world like Uzebekistan rather than oh say, the United Arab Emirates, (so much waste for such a teeny weeny country) cloth diapering seemed like a brilliant option. I mean poop is poop, right? Whether it’s shit that festers in a landfill or shit that gets thrown in a washing machine. (Man, I seem to be constantly talking about bowel movements. Telling of motherhood, but I’ll try to switch it up in future posts).
I wish I could claim I was one of those HARDCORE households that launders all the dirty diapers myself, but alas, hardcore I am not. We use a local diaper service, and even so, it is STILL less expensive than if I had to buy the standard Kilimanjaro-sized stack of ‘sposes that my wee one would require over her diaper wearing years. James is proud that we’ll now only go into marginal rather than astronomical debt.
Thus far I HEART cloth diapering. My girl’s bum looks just delectable in those cute cute covers and, and I’ve never EVER experienced a blow out while she’s in cloth. Amen! (This post references experiences in disposables when mommy wasn’t on top of the laundry. Karma’s a bitch).
Unfortunately, I woke up swimming in a Lake Eerie sized pool of urine the other morning because apparently the Bug’s bladder is now capable of holding liquid in her system for more than a mere ten minutes at a time. So now she floods her diapers, and the piss leaks onto the edges of the cover, which then pools on her clothes and anything else in its path. The solution? To fill the cover with a stack, literally a mountain, of cloth diapers (Have I mentioned my theories on the baby/diaper industry conspiracy?) Like I said, Karma’s a bitch. I had to rock a pad the size of Texas after she had me squeeze her out of my vag, and now she must do likewise. Her rump is so round and fluffy. It’s a good thing she can’t stand yet because she’d certainly fall over from the weight of her tush. It does come in handy as a shelf for her rattles and other baby necessities.
I think Sir Mix-a-lot would be proud.
