So if you know me, or at least have read any of my other posts, you probably have noticed I’m a huge fan of cotton diapers. I started out with prefolds and covers on my first, went down the line of synthetic pockets, bamboo inserts, hemp inserts, and various-fabric fitteds and all in ones over the next two years, and by the time my second child was born I was back to cotton fitteds, prefolds, and all in ones. Even though my daughter uses synthetic microsuede pockets at night, I stuff them with cotton inserts to keep my cotton-to-synthetic ratio as high as possible.
I sing the praises of cotton wherever I go (incidentally, this also has the pleasant effect of people giving me a wide berth on the sidewalk). It washes up cleaner and easier than synthetics—no need for special detergents and I never have stink issues. After realizing this, I sold off most of my other materials and switched my daughter to almost all-cotton diapering materials. We had a system that worked, and worked well.
Then my son was born. “Oh, we will just use the same diapering system we use with our daughter,” thought I, foolishly. It made sense. It had taken me so long, over a year, to finally settle on a system that worked with our personal lifestyle and washing routines, that it didn’t even occur to me that we might have to change things up yet again. We had already tried everything there was! Cotton worked. The end.
Almost everything about my son was different from my daughter from the very beginning. She has dark eyes and hair, he was born with light hair and blue eyes. She would nurse to sleep, he needs to be rocked. She was six pounds at birth. He was nine, which was the biggest difference I was not particularly thrilled about. He would mostly sleep in longer stretches than she ever did as a newborn, but as a couple of semi-delirious, sleep deprived weeks passed, I noticed that often he would wake up and wail and not even nursing would calm him down. Of course this often happened in the middle of the night…shortly after we would put him down, even when we knew his tummy was full, he hadn’t pooped and he was tired.
What could be the issue, I wondered? It wasn’t colic. He didn’t cry for hours. In fact, he always calmed down immediately on the changing table after I changed his—oh.