I did something yesterday I swore I would never do, and I’m afraid this will significantly up my crunchiness level. I spent all day shopping online for cloth diapers.
Gasp! I know! Cloth! Stone age! Poo everywhere! Mass hysteria and extra laundry!
Now that is out of our systems, I’m going to tell you why, and I’m not even going mention the ecological benefits, because, let’s face it, I’m just as selfish as the majority of the rest of the world, and if it isn’t making my life better right now, I’m unlikely to go green. Pathetic, yes. Honest, yes. Moving on.
My children have really, really scary diaper rash. Jonas, thank heaven, is now potty trained, but Maggie has at least a year to go before we ditch the diapers. Due to her extremely sensitive skin, she has had more than her fair share of diaper rashes. Hers tend to go from nothing to red, raised, bumpy and bleeding in one change. Eczema forms where the edges rub on her thighs. It’s not pretty, and it is clearly very painful, and I can fight a rash for over a month before it subsides, only to return the following week. The medical profession has been useless. Currently, we are entering her fifth week of a rash. She has been gooped with fifteen kinds of goo and allowed to run around naked for days on end. Nothing is working.
So yesterday morning when I went to take off her night time diaper and she arched her back and clenched her cheeks and screamed bloody murder when I tried to clean her up, I saw the blood on the wipe, and her purple, tear-streaked face, and it put me over the edge. This simply cannot go on.
I had seriously considered going cloth before I had Maggie. The only thing that stopped me was a sense of being so hugely overwhelmed with everything else going on that the idea of an extra load of laundry and two in diapers made me stop short. Part of me wonders if I made a mistake there, but the logical part of me says, it simply wasn’t my time. Aside from being economically a better choice, cloth diapered babies rarely get diaper rash. Why this is I’m not entirely certain; I’m sure it has to do with chemicals and breathability. I’ve reached the point where I will try anything to make Maggie feel better. (Have I mentioned that she has head to toe eczema and we are waiting for allergy testing results to determine what she can and can’t eat? Trust me, she’s suffered enough lately.) Because I really had no idea what I was doing I e-mailed Jessica over at Very Mom, who runs a Very Baby, a Very Cool diaper supply shop, and knows lots of interesting diaper factoids, and, most importantly could tell me what I needed to get started, the best places to shop, and help me not get blindsided by really awesome and funky, but ultimately unnecessary distractions.
Cloth diapering has come a long way since I was a baby. Instead of a soggy, leaky, stained rag, we now have some incredibly cute and highly functional (read: no leaks and no jabbing the baby with pins) cloth options available. I am told they are easy to use and very absorbent, and not difficult to care for. I should have a big box of basic stuff, and a small box with two custom made diapers arriving at my house very soon, so I’ll let you know!
Posted by Lou on March 29, 2006 @ 8:06 pm | 21 Comments
I’m at that lovely point in motherhood once again. It’s the point where breast feeding becomes more of a burden than a joy, and although I feel that weaning would be a good thing, the mother guilt sets in and makes me feel like crud for not whipping out a breast at Maggie’s whim and fancy until she leaves for college. I think that if, perhaps, Maggie’s whim and fancy could align itself next to my whim and fancy we’d be ok. See, I really enjoy nursing her to sleep at night; I don’t enjoy nursing her back to sleep sixteen times during the night when she wakes up whining, crying and slapping me. I enjoy being able to soothe her in overwhelming situations, but I’m not particularly fond of the tugging on, lifting up of, and mad attempts to unbutton my shirt in the middle of church, or at the store, or pretty much any time I try to talk to someone a little bit unfamiliar, like the UPS guy. It’s endearing and embarrassing all at once.
Not to mention that this extended breast feeding gives me a trump card for all of the other mothering areas that I’m not so great at. I can look at the house in a mess or catch my children sneaking cookies for breakfast and cancel out all those negative effects with the single fact that I have lactated for over fifteen months now, people, so where’s my maid and my medal? According to the parenting mags and the Attachment Parenting gurus, I So Totally Rock. They don’t see my short temper or my increasingly expanding rear since I’ve started eating cookies for breakfast just like the kiddos. They only see my boobs and my baby in bed, the baby in bed who is very soon to be the baby in her own bed, sharing a room with her brother who is not happy about it.
Ugh. Anyway, Maggie is adjusting slowly to the no nursing rule. She has even made it through three nights without nursing. She didn’t like them, but she has learned to grab her sippy cup if she was thirsty and to beat me around the face and kick me in the bladder if she just wanted comfort. My reward for all of this is a rapidly expanding chest. By the end of today I should have some very impressive decolletage going on. If it weren’t for the stretch marks I could abandon my good senses and pose for a nudie magazine. I am just hoping that they start deflating soon.
Weaning Jonas wasn’t a pretty picture. He was eleven months old and ready to be done. I told him no once and he was so thrilled with his new cup (or “porta-boob” as I’m sure he thought of it) he never asked again. This did hurt my feelings a bit, after all, nearly a year of nursing and no sadness? No regrets? I weaned him cold turkey and within one day was in a lot of pain from my hugely engorged breasts that had missed six feedings. It was right before Chris left for basic training, so our last few days together were spent packing, me with an ace bandage wrapped around the still growing, deformed cantaloupes where my breasts used to be, and on top of all that, I had a head cold so severe my entire face was raw and chapped. I’m shocked Chris wanted me back after his training.
I’m hoping that the engorgement will be less severe this time. It seems that way already because I did a more gradual weaning. I know that if it gets too painful I can just let Maggie nurse for a bit, but that just confuses her. I’d use my breast pump, but someone borrowed it and never gave it back.
I’m really hoping that at the end of this, when all is said and done, that my body will realize that it can lose some weight. Both times I have nursed I have been totally unable to lose weight. This time, I’ve even gained a little. I feel three months pregnant. I even took a pregnancy test just to check if maybe, just maybe, there was a logical answer to the size of my thighs, but it was negative, so apparently I’m just fat. I think a big part of this problem stems from the fact that when I’m nursing full time, I’m ravenous. Now that I’m only nursing part time, I’m still eating the same amount. I need to develop some self control, put a lock on the fridge and go for a run.
Aren’t you glad you stopped by my blog today? So many lovely images of body-image loathing, and so many wishy-washy feelings. That’s me, a fat, wishy-washy, engorged, guilty almost non-nurser. May there be a light at the end of my tunnel soon!
Posted by Lou on March 25, 2006 @ 5:31 pm | 16 Comments
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I finished reading the book Stiff: the Curious Lives of Human Cadavers, by Mary Roach. It was fascinating, palatable and great food for thought. I highly reccomend it, but don’t reccomend reading while eating, as it does deal with some pretty gross realities of life. It touched on several topics that I’ve been interested in, specifically, what do you do with the body when the soul has lef?. She took us through being donated to science and used in anatomy classrooms or as crash test dummies (for lack of a better term). She offered options of plastination, burial and cremation. It wasn’t until the very end of the book that she hit on the method that I’ve always thought made the most sense: water reduction, or in a more simplistic term, composting.
In this method they freeze-dry your body and then use ultrasound or mechanical vibration to shatter it. Once you have fallen to pieces, some bacteria would be added (much like natural bacteria that’s going to break you down eventually anyway) and the decomposition process would happen quite quickly. The remaining, very small pieces could then be composted, and you could plant a garden or a tree in it. The body would be returned to nature, which I think makes a lot of sense.
I have often visited cemeteries and my thoughts have been turned to the decomposing bodies that lie within coffins and vaults beneath my feet. Even though they have been embalmed, the body is slowly decomposing. The exact same thing is happening, only there is nothing beneficial coming from it. Instead of mucking up the insides of an overpriced casket, why not be useful and give a little back to the Earth? I remember as a child once broaching this question to my mother, saying that I’d rather be buried in a field somewhere and have flowers planted atop my decaying corpse. It sounded beautiful, romantic, and in a way, like living again. She told me that it would spread disease, and I have no romantic notions about disease. But, here you go, ten years later some lovely people in Sweden have come up with an answer!
I know someone out there is reading this and thinking, “that is so gross.” To an extent, I agree. When you get down to brass tacks I haven’t come across a single method of disposing of a body that isn’t pretty disgusting. Cremation is nasty, what with the burning of flesh, embalming and burial is enough to make me retch (especially when you consider the incredibly high prices one is required to pay for this service, and the fact that many in underprivileged countries can’t afford it at all), burial at sea involves horrible bloating (as if I haven’t done enough of that while I was alive!) And being eaten by sharks and crabs and any other marine life that cares to taste your special brand of cuisine. Water reduction is less expensive and there is almost no putrefaction involved. It’s quick (in the time frame of decay), and when you are done the Earth is better for it and your relatives can grow a lovely shade tree and think of you while they picnic beneath. The world doesn’t need more graveyards, but I am of the opinion that we could absolutely use more beauty, more tranquility and more healthful soil.
Posted by Lou on March 22, 2006 @ 5:22 pm | 13 Comments
Chris is very good about computer maintenance. In fact, he’s so good, that after several days of trying to restore a problem that proved impossible, he wiped the entire hard drive. Now, he did save the documents and music and photos before he wiped, so I can’t be too upset. However, he also wiped all of my Pampered Chef stuff (took hours to re-input), destroyed my internet favorites list (If I’m not visiting your site any longer, it’s because I CAN’T FIND YOU), Made Word Perfect dissapear (Oh! The Typos! You’ll All Be Blinded!) and, on top of that, lost my wall paper. I now have a stupid rolling hill with an annoyingly blue sky behind. I know you’re think, jeez, Lou, it’s just wallpaper, move on and move up and all that. . .but people- this wasn’t ordinary wallpaper! This was wallpaper from the movie Sense & Sensibility, wallpaper that featured Alan Rickman as Col. Brandon, beautifully combining my literary crush with a VERY ATTRACTIVE MAN who I just happen to really enjoy looking at about six hundred times a day when I pass my computer. It was a nice light green, and Kate Winselt was on it too ( never looked at her much, cute as she is), and I really miss it, so if someone out there in internet land could locate that for me, I’d be so grateful! I’ve searched and searched to no avail.
I did find this, which was quite funny.
I must also say a big thank you to day to a dear reader who sent me a pacakge in the mail, just because she’s sweet! In it were three books, including one I’ve been dying to read: Stiff- The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers. I never thought I’d be so excited about dead bodies, but look! I am! Go figure. Anyway, THANK YOU!!!!!!!!! WOW!!!
(Yes, I know I’ve used more exclamation points in this post than I’ve used in my entire blog. I don’t know what’s come over me. And also, before you send me hate mail about the fact that I’m a married woman and shouldn’t be looking at other men, let me just mention Chris’ undying love of Keira Knightly- we’re even, and we’re both happy, and in the event that either of these people fall madly in love with either of us. . .well, now, that’s so unlikley we haven’t even bothered with a contigency plan.)
*Edited to add- Chris reinstalled wordperfect, so I can type now! He also, bless his heart, saved Alan! So I have a hot desktop once more 
Isn’t Chris great?
Posted by Lou on March 17, 2006 @ 10:19 pm | 14 Comments
When I was a little girl I shaved off half of each of my eyebrows. I didn’t do it to make a statement or send a message or to be cool. I did it out of pure curiosity and a burning desire to be all grown up. My friend Laura and I locked ourselves away in her room one afternoon. She had stolen her mom’s make-up and assured me that we were allowed to play with it. After carefully painting our faces, she brought out her mom’s razor. She shaved one stripe up each of her legs, and took the peach fuzz off of her toes. I wanted to shave something, so I thought I’d take a tiny bit off of my eyebrows. I took just a few hairs off of the top of both when I realized that I now had uneven brows. To correct this, I took a little more off of the other side, which caused them to be uneven in the other direction. This evening out continued until both eyebrows were over half gone, and I had given up knowing that I wasn’t going to have eyebrows left if I continued. We stashed the stolen make-up and then, forgetting our new found “maturity”, went out to play.
My mother picked me up a few hours later, and we went to buy some groceries at Cash Wise Foods. I can still point out the exact end of the isle where my mother finally took a good look at me and discovered my mutilated brows. You must know that of all of my features, my mother is most proud of my beautiful eyebrows. You see, most babies have no eyebrows when they are born, but I had lots of hair and two perfectly formed brows, and they were the talk of the nurses in the hospital where I was delivered. It is also notable that I was born into the era of Brooke Shields, and full eyebrows were very much the trend. My mother was proud that a genetic twist had given me such an edge up on beauty, so when my perfect brows had all but disappeared, she was horrified, to say the least.
She had me trapped between herself and a shelf of canned corn and began firing inquiries about the state of my eyebrows. Had I plucked them? Did I let Laura pluck them? I repeatedly answered no, insisting that nothing had happened. After all, she hadn’t landed on what I’d really done, and I suddenly had the impression that she just might flip her lid if I confessed. I kept up the stalemate for a little while longer, until I realized that I was going to be trapped with the corn until my mother had a good answer. I finally muttered that I had shaved them. This did not help the situation. After many pathetic explanations and a lot of curious shoppers walking by, my mother finally told me that sometimes when people cut their eyebrows off, they don’t grow back. My mother chastised me by saying that it would be all my fault if I had ugly, misshapen brows for the rest of my life and had to paint them on in a perpetually surprised pose like one of the old ladies my grandmother worked with. I had been blessed with naturally beautiful brows, and I had utterly destroyed them.
There is nothing like guilt to teach a child a lesson. I spent the next month worried sick over the state of my eyebrows, knowing that unless they grew back, I would look weird for the rest of my life. Thankfully, they did grow back. Now I see things from my mother’s point of view, and hope Maggie never gets creative with a razor, because I know I’ll be the one in a tizzy by the corn.
Posted by Lou on March 13, 2006 @ 6:17 pm | 14 Comments
Last night Jonas got his revenge by banging on our keyboard until it broke. I now have a new keyboard; it’s the cheapest one that Best Buy carried, and let me tell you it feels darn weird to be typing on it. I think it’s because it’s clean. I’m used to having a keyboard with dribbles and sticky keys because Chris and I eat at eats half of our meals while on the computer.
Ok, I post about how I’m a horrible child abuser who brushes her kids’ teeth with soap and you people reward me with twenty-seven comments. Interesting.
I am in the process of cleaning out my scrapbook room. Now, I do tidy from time to time. It’s the obligatory clearing of the counter so I have space to work. It’s been getting smaller and smaller for months now, which probably explains why I’ve started doing so many mini albums. I did a twelve by twelve layout a few days ago and had to work on top of my piles of scraps and various bits of cropping filth, and even branch out onto the top of the dryer. Now I’m doing such a thorough cleaning I’m even going to attempt to remove the glued on crud. I went through my cardstock rack and pulled out all of the ugly colors. I recently discovered that my scrapbook store will let me exchange this stuff for new stuff, so out with the old, in with the new! They will love counting all six hundred sheets of paper. The stuff that is too old to be exchanged is all in a heap on my counter waiting to be moved to a box. At that point I’ll call all of my scrapping friends and say, ‘Come buy Lou’s crap- CHEAP!” It’s mostly last season, so it’s not like it’s old and moldy 1998 scrapbooking stuff; most people think I’m crazy to get rid of the good stuff I part with, but if it’s not making my muse sing- it’s outta here. I must balance the harmonies in my studio, because right now it’s an assault to the senses.
Did you know that if you Google “random bloody noses” I am the number one hit? No kidding. To you people out there searching to find answers to your bloody nose problems, I don’t have them, but I feel your pain.
Jonas spends all day asking, “Where’d you get it?” I must answer or he will drone on and on like a broken record until my hair hurts. If I say something was for Christmas or a birthday he always says, “Thank you Gramma Sue car?” Or “Thank you Gramma Claudia jammies?” Everything is from his Grammas. Occasionally he will sigh and say, “Santa good, thank you Santa!” Because he needs to know the origin of all things, my little Darwin has been struggling to figure out where his sister came from. Now he asks, at least once a day, “Thank you Maggie Doctor?” To which I reply, “Maggie didn’t come from the doctor. Maggie camefrom Heavenly Father. Mommy grew her in her tummy.” Or some other normal, semi accurate answer. He refuses to give either me or God credit, and insists that we need to thank the doctor for Maggie.
Well, that’s all folks. I have glue that needs to be scraped off my counter so I can get back to the creative aspects of scrapbooking instead of this housekeeping business. Peace out.
Posted by Lou on March 11, 2006 @ 11:45 pm | 10 Comments
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