Going Amish

Not sure what all I might ultimately contribute to this world, but one thing I'd rather not is a mountain of dirty diapers.

Anyone who's needed to, knows Huggies must have originally been manufactured by the Greek god of soft things for your bum, Plushicretus. Yet, I am trying to pull myself, and Quinn's bum, away from such decadence and become familiar with reusable diapers.

It was fitting that the first day Quinn wore one of these washable diapers, she also had on a shirt that asked "Does this diaper make my butt look big?" Because it looked (and felt) like the poor kid either had a cement bag in her shorts, or had finally exhibited her mother's most obstinate of traits -- an overly pronounced bubble bum.

Admittedly, it feels like I'm embarking into the reverse of Rumspringa -- when Amish teenagers "go English" and indulge in the modern world. This feels like an abandonment of all that is convenient and modern and good (for one's sanity) in the world. I might as well be toiling under a hot sun, hammering a shoe back onto a squirming horse while everyone is cruising by with their stereos blaring, the sunroof open, on the long road to the land of the toilet-trained.

But unlike the Amish, I'm not spending my day making furniture or food, I'm spending it scraping poop from a cloth with a stick. Then fermenting the defiled diapers in a pale of water, stewing up the most vile of soups you could imagine.

My Captain at the firehouse used to shake his head in amazement that I could enjoy the company of a dog enough to pick up her excrement with only the barrier of a plastic bag. What joy a screaming infant could bring me in exchange for this I'm sure he'd conclude to only be delusional.

With a small stash of such reusable diapers, it wasn't long before I was doing a load of laundry, which is the first argument against such "environmental" efforts. Considering the diapers nearly came up to Quinn's chin, she probably would have been more content if I'd just outfitted her with a Ziploc bag and a wad of paper towel. At least then she might not have had the beginnings of a body rash.

Until the arrival of the ridiculously priced assortment of reusable diapers (in more suitable sizes) I succumbed to purchasing, I've reverted back to abolla horribilis (Latin for Huggies). Until then, no more stick or polluted, stinky diaper soup! YAY!!!

Cheers!
Mama Mamish & Not-So-Innocuous Quinn