On Diapers and Change

     When our first child was born, I briefly considered using some form of cloth diapering. “It is cheaper, you know, and better for the earth,” so said my conscience. But smelly diaper pails, the inconvenience of cloth, and the start-up price all deterred me. Disposables won out without much of a battle, especially after a stay-at-home mom told me how much she saved per diaper by using cloth.

     “I wanted to earn some money for my husband’s birthday present,” she said, laughing, “so every time I use a cloth diaper, he pays me the difference in what I save by not using a pamper. Silly, I suppose, but I like the feeling of having earned money of my own.”

     “How much per diaper?” I asked weakly, worried that her savings would be enough to arouse my conscience and make me reconsider cloth.

     She named the amount, a fraction of what I expected and less than a dollar a day.

     “Only that?” I said.

     “Yes. By the time you figure in soap and a little electricity for the washer, and if you use a cheap brand of pampers, the difference per diaper isn’t very big.”

     Her husband’s birthday gift, I figured, wasn’t going to be very big, either.

     Relieved that disposables were not such an outrageous expenditure after all, I happily pampered my first two children until they were potty-trained at the ripe old age of two.

     But our third-born came to us in West Africa where disposables are more expensive than the cheap options in the States and where trash multiplies nicely without my help. My conscience needed no prodding to come to life.

     I purchased square cloth diapers at my favorite market. I learned how to fold the squares to fit a baby through the tutelage of a veteran cloth-diapering-mom. Diaper liners were cut out of old clothing. My sister-in-law sent me diaper covers. I still had a month until the baby was born, so I practiced on a teddy bear who moved not at all while I worked and whose smile of yarn never left its face. This wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

     Plus (and I began to wear my chin with the tilt of being virtuous), there is nothing like knowing you are saving the trees and the earth.

     Then my baby was born. As soon as he grew big enough for the diaper covers to fit him, I outfitted him in his first cloth diaper. He even felt frugal when I picked him up. But from that very first diaper, I disliked every square inch of whiteness that bunched up on his little bottom and doubled its size. Disenchanted or no, I doggedly stuck with them, finding them tolerable during the day if I used disposables for going away and for the night.

     The best part of cloth diapering, I discovered, had nothing to do with a baby bottom and all to do with rows of white squares sunning on the wash line –the perfect picture of domestication. Nor did I mind extolling the virtues of cloth over disposable to my family who asked me how I liked them. “National Geographic’s Human Footprint estimates that each baby uses 3,796 diapers in its lifetime,” I told them. “And Pampers aren’t biodegradable, so in 500 years, they’ll still be around.”

     Gone green or no, I still disliked cloth diapers. I could tell the baby wasn’t fond of them, either, by the way he thumped his feet and fussed when I changed him, hampering the installation process. So much for the smiling teddy bear of my practice days.

     And then one day: I changed the baby and adeptly put the cloth diaper in place. My technique had improved with time. The wet diaper was dropped into a bucket of antiseptic water that smelled nothing like the diaper pail I dreaded. When it came time to do laundry, I discovered the system I developed for myself was working; I rarely had to rinse anything out or touch anything nasty, thanks to my homemade liners.

     It had been slow in coming, but I realized that I actually preferred cloth. I couldn’t believe it. But they were soft against his baby skin and not hard to deal with. The baby was growing fond of them, too, or so I thought by the way he thumped his feet happily when I changed him.

    I hope I can remember the lessons of the cloth diapers in the coming weeks: The hardest part of change is the learning curve. Kicking against the changes inhibits good things from happening in your life. Eventually, new things become normal and familiar —so much so that it is possible to start preferring the new over the old.

     In diapers, it just takes time, effort, and determination to forge through the tough days. In real life, there is grace (and other God-gifts) to add to that list. Thankfully. Because our family is facing a world of change.

    Our three-year commitment of service in Accra ends in two weeks. Replacements have already arrived and are co-living with us while we train them into their new role. We don’t doubt God’s leading, but even a God-led transition is laced with discomforts associated with change. That’s why I want to remember the lessons of the cloth diapers and walk through these weeks immersed in grace.

     Oh, the diapers? They changed, too. One day a little river of antiseptic water ran down the hallway and pooled under the baseboards. The baby howled to show his displeasure over his discovery. His daddy wasn’t happy, either, especially after he mopped for a half an hour to clean it up. A change occurred: the pail and white squares were (at least temporarily) archived.

     That might be the other valuable lesson of cloth diapers: Flexibility is one of your greatest assets.