April 28, 2007
April 25, 2007
April 18, 2007
To G or not to G? That is the question.
I’ve decided to ditch Erich’s landfill cloggers and live a little greener. That’s right friends, the Bohns are going cloth. I used to think cloth diapers would be a lot of work but many friends have convinced me otherwise. No more pins and plastic covers, diapers of the old days are Pintos compared to what’s out there now. And although I’d really like to be creative and resourceful like some people I know, I’m just not that dedicated. So I’m ready with my credit card, but there are options galore and I simply can’t decide between the Mercedes and the BMW.
I’ve narrowed it down to two brands:
Both have their advantages and disadvantages; however, I won’t bore anyone with the details. Frankly I don’t feel like typing it all out. But it’s the funniest thing; I’m really excited to be more “hands on” with my child’s puddles and squirts (that’s what we call poo & pee in our house). It will feel good to help the environment in my own little way. (Man, I’m such a liberal.)
So there I was tonight, researching my new obsession with my little angel cuddled in my lap, playing with his own latest obsession, his hands. I was reading up on the Stacinator, a diaper cover that’s supposedly a “great way to stop day and nighttime diaper leaks,” when Erich suddenly became squirmy. I lifted him up to find brown leakage all over us and his blanket. Oh, the irony just kills me. That Stacinator thing sounds pretty fabulous.
Labels: Cloth Diapering
April 15, 2007
I just made a guest post on a blog called Various Stages of Mormondom. It’s a site devoted to discussing issues from the perspectives of people in various stages of Mormonism, ranging from fully active to atheist. A weekly topic is assigned and each person has their day to shine, while a guest blogger is invited to post every Sunday. I was invited to participate as today on the topic of Resurrection.
You can check it out here:
If nothing else, make sure to tune in to the site next Sunday. Marc will be bringing the house down.
Labels: Wisdom From the Book of Melbo
My final week of pregnancy I could have run a marathon to force thiat child out. Then while I was in labor, the pain was so bad ahat a shovel to the head would have felt better. I opted for the epidural over the shovel, but I waited long enough to guarantee the contractions were a pain I’ll always remember, not only to rub it in my son’s face one day, but so I don’t fool myself into thinking that a natural birth might actually be a good idea. (It’s not.)
The hospital stay was traumatic in its own right. Dozens of strangers shoving their way in my room at all hours to fill out forms (those were Marc’s guests), to poke and prod Erich and me, to throw off the sheets and examine how things are going “down there” and ask when my last “pee pee” and “poo poo” was (like, they do know I’m not the baby, right?). Don’t even get me started on the Nazi lactation nurses fondling me every two hours while smashing Erich’s face into my breasts. The only person that didn’t wake me up was the food lady, and she was the only one I waited up for.
It didn’t take long after settling in at home to have my first emotional/mental/physical breakdown. I lasted 24 hours before I sent Marc out in a blizzard to fill my prescriptions. I stayed home with a body that wouldn’t function, a baby that wouldn’t nurse, and breasts that wouldn’t stop growing. (Normally I wouldn’t complain about the last one, but I wasn’t thinking rationally at the time.) Another epidural would’ve been welcome, but I settled for an ocean of tears and the beloved Percoset my darling husband brought home. Ice packs, heating pads and oxycodone saved my life. I spent the next month healing, sleeping, nursing and trying not to poop. At least my kid is freakin’ adorable.
Now that my 13 week old sack of potatoes is sleeping through the night (10 hours last night!), babbling through his huge gummy grin and keeping his once 2 hour feeds at less than 40 minutes now, I’m starting to forget. My higher power is putting His Magic Eraser to work, obliterating traumatic portions of the past few months. Forever recording my experience in the blogosphere wasn’t likely part of God’s plan for new mothers, but He has a special plan for me. I’m beginning to forget what it felt like, but I hope by writing this, I don’t forget what happened. I propagate the species by accidental fertilization. It’s happened once, and it could happen again. At least next time I’ll know what to expect.