Kid Amnesiac

I just committed myself to sticking with Fuzzi Bunz cloth diapers for the long haul with Simon. In sickness and in health. For richer for poorer. ‘Til potty training or fabric deconstruction do us part.

For the past five and a half months, we’ve used these pocket-style cloth diapers quite happily. Of course, it’s easy to love cloth diapering at this stage. Simon’s not on solid foods yet and he only drinks breastmilk. So I’m not being a deluded mom when I tell you his poop doesn’t stink. It (usually) really doesn’t.

Use and care are a snap, too. The diapers go on like disposables with snaps, and I store them in a big washable bag. Once a day, they get soaked in cold water and then washed in hot. The inserts dry on high heat in about 30 minutes, while the shells can line dry in about an hour. Once they are clean and dry, I stuff the inserts back into the diaper shells and am ready for another full day of diapering. I have to special order the right detergent to use, and I run up and down the stairs quite a bit, but it’s truly no big deal.

Unfortunately, these halcyon days are numbered. Sometime in the next week or so, Simon will start solids and our olfactory holiday will end. Cleaning will also get trickier, and I’m already feeling nostalgic.

Coincidentally, Simon has just outgrown his size small Fuzzi Bunz. This crept up on me. The leg holes still fit on the second tightest adjustment, and the waist still snaps on the tightest setting. I figured I had two months left. But I’ve noticed lately that he’s leaked up on his shirt a few times, and the culprit is a too short rise. Upon close inspection, I discovered that Simon is wearing his diapers the way hip-hop artists or wannabees wear their pants. I don’t personally like the look on anyone, but on Simon there are practical as well as aesthetic implications.

So it’s time to either ditch the cloth diapers or invest in new, larger ones. At $18 a pop, Fuzzi Bunz don’t come cheap. Throw in my prefered diaper insert at $2.50 each and a diaper sprayer for $35 (necessary for the next phase in poopy diapers), and you can drop a lot of cash in very little time–in about 15 minutes to be exact.

No doubt 1 to 2 1/2 years of disposables would cost more. These suckers are good for up to 30 pounds, so I will save money in the long run. But you buy disposables on the instalment plan and can switch brands at any time, whereas I just paid for these all up front–a hefty financial outlay.

So that seals the deal. Having broken the bank, I can’t go back. I have sealed my poopy fate and can only hope that a lifetime of gross-out desensitization at the hands of my older brothers (you wouldn’t believe how many poop and fart jokes they know) will prepare me for the horror that awaits.

Simon’s vocabulary is still limited to things like “brrrrrr” and “uguh” and now “ooh”, but Matt and I have developed a few new words and phrases since he arrived. Some were common during the early months; some have cropped up more recently, but all of these coinages have characterized our baby-related vocabulary.

baby pattern baldness, n.: a hair pattern in which babies lose a patch of hair just below their crown due to constant friction from sleeping on their backs.

Wyatt Urp, n. pr.: Grandpa Whitworth’s nickname for Simon. If you’ve read the blog at all, there’s no need for me to explain.

der Autoswaddler, n.: Swaddle wraps with velcro to hold babies in tight. Formerly thought by me to be for amateurs. Now considered the only effective means of Simon restraint. We stopped using these about two weeks ago when the temperature rose to 80 degrees.

barf, v. tr.: You are no doubt familiar with “barf” as a noun or instransitive verb. We now use it as a transitive verb, as in, “It’s time to barf the baby.” Trust us, he barfs much more than he burps.

sound and fury signifying nothing, n.: With apologies to Shakespeare, what we term a relatively clean diaper after sounds that would suggest the worst.

thunderdome, n.: any playmat that features overhanging toys. Common ones are made by Boppy and Baby Einstein.

Cryin’ Charlie, n:. soundless cry. Mouth opens, face turns red, fists ball up, yet nothing is heard. The Cryin’ Charlie immediately precedes a piercing wail. Stolen from an old Bill Cosby routine.

milk coma, n.: happy, sleepy state Simon falls into immediately after nursing.

minty, n: Mylanta. Simon seemed to enjoy the minty taste of Mylanta from the very first dose. We would say, “Hey Simon, do you need some minty?” It’s now been two months at least since he got any. His minty days are over.

Simon’s Third Law, n: “For every poop action, there is an equal and opposite barf reaction.”  If you go to change Simon’s diaper, odds are he will throw up on you while you are attending to him. Similarly, if you are barfing Simon, odds are he will at some point buck and poop during the activities.

nursing burkha, n: nursing cover-up made by Bebe au Lait.

co-napping, n: tucking your infant into bed with with you in the early morning with the fervent hope that he will doze off and allow you to get another hour of sleep. Quite effective!

frantic ineffective, adj.: One of several nursing styles, the frantic ineffective nurser gets so worked up and excited when he’s hungry that he smiles, looks around, wiggles, squirms, and pretty much does everything at the breast except actually nurse. If I let Simon sleep too long, he’s likely to be a frantic ineffective once I wake him up.

Book of Armaments, n.: What to Expect: The First Year. Nowadays we consult this excellent book every month to see what we should expect in the coming weeks. At the beginning, however, we consulted it multiple times every day, for everything about nursing and bathing to shushing and swaddling. Whatever question we had, the Book of Armaments had the answer for.  (Ripped off from Monty Python and the Holy Grail.  The Book of Armaments has yet to recommend the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch as any part of our childrearing routine.)

When I first contemplated having a boy, I realized the day would come when I’d have to deal with his being girl crazy. I did not, however, expect that day to come quite so soon. And yet, at 24 weeks old tomorrow, Simon clearly appreciates a pretty face.

Put a kind looking boy or man in front of Simon, and he grins and makes eye-contact. Put him on his Papaw’s knee or have an uncle lift him up to play airplane, and he has a ball. He’s wild for his dad. But the minute a woman looks at him–especially if it’s a young, pretty one–he goes wild. He coos. He laughs. He squeals. Nay, he shrieks in joy. He pulls out every cute baby trick in his arsenal to captivate his audience and keep the pretty ladies’ attention directed his way.

We first noticed this with Auntie Jen. Then we watched him flirt shamelessly with the barristas at Heine Brothers and waitresses at Cumberland Brews.  But this weekend Simon put on a girl crazy demonstration to end them all. It started Friday, when a fussy afternoon was relieved only by the presence of his Auntie Jen and the attention of a pretty waitress at dinner. Then Saturday we went sofa shopping (our current one is a deathtrap that defies baby-proofing), and Simon made eyes at every female sales associate that got within a 50 feet of him. And today we hit a cafe in the morning, and Simon went wild for a young pretty thing waiting to get her drink at the counter.

I have no idea how common this is. I know babies in general prefer the higher voices women have.  But do they all also prefer women’s faces? Is Simon just acting like a typical baby, or is he expressing an early preference for pretty faces? I have no idea. What I do know is that if he keeps this up, I’m going to have a middle school Casanova on my hands.