diapers
Sometimes Words Simply Fail
Moments in time.
We all have them. Some of these moments are brilliant. They shine so far beyond our expectations that we wonder if we really had anything to do with it at all. Other moments are more everyday, mundane, routine, but beautiful none-the-less in their simplicity. And then, there are those moments. Those are the moments we would like to take back, or wished never happened, or worse, revealed so great a conundrum about ourselves that it leaves us speechless. Those are the times that we just shake our heads and wonder what in the world we were thinking at all. Yep. Moments in time, or shall I say, less than great moments in time.
It was such a typical day. It was just the three of us at the time: Marm, Annie, and me. Annie was just a tyke in diapers and not very old at all. We were in those early stages of being first time parents. Everything was a big deal in regard to our baby. We were the over-the-top vigilant parents. Nothing got past us. (Ha!) and nothing ever would. (Ha again!)
Everything was new and unusual. We were knee-deep in working out routines, schedules, and all those things that contribute to having your entire world turned upside-down by the smallest of people. Everything had changed forever. This was not bad, mind you, just the truth as any parent will tell you. Nothing was or ever would be the same as before.
Take the laundry for instance. When it was just Marm and I laundry seemed to be a fairly simple task. Once or twice a week there would be a couple of loads to wash and dry and that was it. Who knew a baby could change something as droll as laundry into one of the biggest time challenges of the week? It was only one small kid. How could she routinely mess up so many clothes and cloth diapers.? As Vizzini from The Princess Bride would say,”Inconceivable!”
I’m telling you. There were diapers, onesies, tops, pants, sleepers, dresses, jumpers, skirts, socks, bibs, towels, more diapers, plastic pants, blankets and the like. She was just one kid, but the piles of laundry she could produce were inappropriate. I still shake my new daddy head when I think about it.
The reason we had so many diapers was simple. We were part of the early eighty’s parenting movement known as “natural childbirth”. This meant Marm had no meds during labor and delivery, she nursed the kids faithfully rather than feed them a bottle, and we used cloth diapers with rubber pants over them. We would have none of those plastic diaper thingies on our girl’s little tush.
At that time the environment and plastic diapers hadn’t become a pop-cult item like today. We just didn’t want to use them, and didn’t want to have to pay for them. Cloth was cheaper, more natural.
Compared to the cloth diapers our daughters use on their kids today, ours were from the stone age. No deluxe shapes, snaps, colors and patterns. No fancy inserts for better absorption Nope. Simple, plain, white, cotton diapers that had to be folded after every use. These were our tools of the trade, and this brings me to the point.
I really did want to help Marm out with all the work load this little angel of ours created on a regular basis. Marm had her hands full with everything that went into being a first time mother. I don’t know if I really helped that much or not, but I would like to think I did. She could probably give you the 411 on this much more accurately than me.
What I do remember was one of those glorious moments when I did one of the stupidest things I could do. What’s so pathetic about this is that I didn’t even realize how stupid it was, and how immeasurably dumb I sounded in defending myself.
It went something like this.
“Don, please put the wet diapers that are in the washer in the dryer so I can have them ready in the morning.”
“Sure thing Sweetheart,” I said as I trotted downstairs to the laundry room and switched the diapers from the washer to the dryer.
We spent the rest of the evening uneventfully. Next morning Marm heads down for the diapers and finds them in the dryer right where they should be, still soaking wet.
“Don! Why are the diapers still wet?” she asked me.
I came down to take a look and had this sinking feeling in my stomach.
“Did you turn the dryer on after you put them in here?” she asked.
“No,” was my reply.
“Why not? You now I needed them this morning.”
“You didn’t ask me to. You told me to put them in the dryer, and I did.”
“Are you kidding me?” she exclaimed as she stood there incredulous. “I have to tell you to turn it on once you put the cloths in?”
Here would have been the best time just admit defeat, but alas I wasn’t that wise.
“You said to put them in the dryer,” I insisted, “and, I, did.”
Her eyes turned to fire on the spot. Not only did she have a pile of wet diapers that she needed for the day, but her husband was being the hugest of idiots.
“I figured a grown man would know that when you put clothes in the dryer you have to turn it on. I guess you proved me wrong!”
I was asked to leave immediately.
I had no defense, none. To this day I still have no defense. I would love to justify this somehow. I would love to recover from this and make it seem rational, but I can’t. It simply goes down in the family history book as one of those moments when sometimes… words simply fail.
Curls & Capes 