zygote daddy

so is this considered hubris or simply narcissism?

You know, I fear it's presumptuous to think that anyone would want to hear what I think about anything. But if I didn't already have a flair for the narcissistic, I wouldn't have a blog, now would I?

I bring it up because I have recently doubled my presence on the innernets. Drumroll please...

Announcing A Compendium of All Knowledge Related to the Rearing of Offspring, a place for me to dispense my limitless parenting wisdom to the huddled, grateful masses. That's right, I have heard your pleas, I have answered the call.

You're welcome.

on diapering

When this whole baby adventure thing began, d.w. and I, like any good environmentally-minded soon-to-be parents, had some very serious conversations about the respective cradle-to-grave impacts of cloth vs. disposables vs. gDiapers (a category unto themselves).

In the end the decision was made for us when d.w. found a couple of dozen cloth diapers at a garage sale. Score one point for us. We were set for all Chins' diapering needs.

Fast forward a few months.

All those diapers seem to have decided as a group that they would begin deteriorating rather rapidly, and all at the same time, becoming rather ratty and threadbare.

This was a month or so ago.

We still had a lot of diapering ahead of us.

What to do -- switch to disposables? Yeah, right. I'm way too lazy for disposables. You have to take them all the way out to the trash can? No thanks. For convenience, cloth is definitely the way to go. Drop them in the wash every couple of days and you're good to go. So cloth it would continue to be.

We started looking at the cloth diaper options we had — and what options! I had no idea the diapers that were out there. Any visions of prefolds and plastic pants were quickly thrown aside when I saw the offerings available.

Now it's all about polypropylene linings and microfiber inserts. Of course, you need to watch for anything off-gassing phthalates — the complications of the modern world! Anyway, we also found some hemp inserts, which somehow hold in ungodly amounts of baby pee. (An aside: who knew babies could pee so much? It's ridiculous. I swear Chins must lose 5 pounds overnight.) And we just bought some bamboo wipes to replace the frayed flannel ones we were using.

Why would anyone use disposables when you can use fair trade organic hemp and bamboo diapers made sustainably by microloan-financed survivors of domestic abuse? Or is that just too Ode for ya?

Yeah, I just totally made that up. But you get my drift.

My personal favorites are made by Wallypop, the nomme de guerre of a wahm in Des Moines. She makes these great wool diaper covers.

What's that? Wool???

Yeah, that was my first reaction, too. Ever try wearing a sweater out in the rain? But seriously, boiled wool makes awesome covers. They don't leak, they look cool, and they're not those awful plastic pants. Best of all, when it's time to be changed Chins starts smelling like a wet sheep. And you don't need to wash them, although I'm still coming around to that one.

So yeah, cloth diapering is where it's at. But don't ask Chins. We already know what he would choose if he had his way:

the war on baby crack becomes a quagmire

I swore I wouldn't do it. I wouldn't succumb to the tempting convenience and ease of just sticking my kid in a swinging, blinking, music-playing Neglect-o-Matic (or "baby crack", as d.w. lovingly puts it), rather than actually holding him, while singing and talking and swaying.

I was just so sure about it. This was something I simply WOULD NOT DO.

But then I realized that sometimes, just sometimes, I have to put on socks. Or change a lightbulb. Or rediscover my own personal space.

At least I draw the line at the music. Tinny, Fisher Price muzak has absolutely no business contaminating my aural experience. Period.

d.w. and I have both managed to become fairly adept at doing household chores while wearing the little dude in a wrap, but we've both come to accept that once in a while, it's ok to put him down. It doesn't make us bad parents, and it doesn't mean Chins is destined for many years of therapy (well, from this at least).

But it is a little creepy how his consciousness seems to exist on an entirely different plane when he fixates on those weird little plastic fish. Reason enough not to sit him there any longer than we have to.

Actually, sometimes I just need to put him down because he's a 13-pound(!), 24-inch-long(!) one month old(!). Yes, he is now officially off the charts. Today Sheryl (d.w.'s fabulous nurse-midwife, who we've kept on for pediatric care) pegged him somewhere considerably north of the 99th percentile for weight and length. And that means he gets rather heavy after a while, especially when he can only sort of hold up his (gigantic) head, and generally just feels like a giant larva curled up there.

So we've finally accepted we can't simply "stay the course" in the war on baby crack. I guess we'll have to be happy fighting baby crack to a draw. But we're not losing — call it a phased redeployment of child-rearing priorities.

the diaper dilemma...solved!

Like many people facing parenthood, d.w. and I have spent months mulling over the various financial and environmental costs of diapering, given the estimated 6,000 diaper changes we face over the next couple of years. We immediately dismissed disposable diapers as an option, because the environmental cost is simply too great. While their post-consumer environmental impact isn't as great an issue for us (because garbage goes to our town's power plant for electricity generation — I know, it surprised me to hear that too), I just hate the idea of using petroleum-based plastics unnecessarily. We thought about the happier Seventh Generation ones, but that would probably leave us with the financial choice of paying for either diapers or heat. In an Iowa winter, I have a feeling I'd vote for heat.

And besides, they all (Seventh Generation notably excepted) have those goddamn cutesy TV cartoon characters all over them. I mean really, how early does branding need to begin? I would rather be mauled by a pack of ravenous chipmunks than hear the words, "Hey, look at my Dora the Explorer(R) ultrasound pictures! I'm so excited about my Disney(R) baby, brought to you by Barbie(R)!"

And they reek. We bought a pack of newborn-size diapers (Ohmigod! They're so tiny!) to use during the first week or two, and now the zygote's room smells like some demented chemist's approximation of "baby powder meets formaldehyde, with a touch of Lysol". And you expect me to stick that diaper WHERE?

That said, I feel it necessary to stick in a good word for disposables. After all, my father-in-law spent his career as a chemist in the paper division at Proctor and Gamble. So in a way, Pampers put d.w. through college, and for that I am grateful. Of course, even he used cloth diapers on his kids. Perhaps he was a little too familiar with all the crap they put in diapers during manufacturing. At least, that's the logic behind his not eating mayonnaise anymore...

I haven't asked too many specifics about that one. But I must say I can never look at potato salad the same way again...

So for us it was a choice between cloth and gDiapers. (Well, I suppose we could try the whole infant-potty-training thing like the good people at Green Parenting, but I really haven't the will.)

If you haven't yet learned of the awesomeness of gDiapers (Um...did I just use "awesomeness" and "diapers" in the same sentence? Yikes...), they are an Australian concept employing a washable nylon outer cover and a flushable liner made from sustainably-harvested wood fiber. They're even Cradle to Cradle-certified. Simply brilliant. They've been discussed a lot more thoughtfully at I Hate Snaps, Treehugger, and Daddy Types (and I'm probably missing a few places), so I'll keep the expounding to a minimum.

So it was either that or cloth. And while I won't reproduce the entirety of the debate here, I'll give you the one sticking point to which we kept coming back: the expense. I know, can you believe it wasn't the thought of washing human feces-laden diapers several times a week? The thought of heightened fecal involvement isn't nearly so bothersome as is coming up with many hundreds of dollars' worth of diapers at the same time as, HELLO???, we're also trying to get everything else ready for the little guy. Yes, yes, I know they're less expensive in the long run, but we won't be on food stamps in "the long run." We're on food stamps now. And now is when we also need diapers.

(Just an aside: do you have any idea how fucked up the food stamp system is? You could buy absolutely nothing but Mountain Dew and Twinkies, and that would be just peachy — and believe me I've seen it, more than once. But you can't buy vitamins. Or energy bars. It's mind-blowing, really. And another thing: remind me to NEVER EVER EVER complain about taxes. EVER. Thank you, taxpayers of Iowa. Your generosity will not be forgotten.)

Anyway, here's the deal: in the end we didn't have to make any decision at all. A garage sale and thrift store phenom, d.w found a complete set of all the cloth diapers we will ever need at a garage sale around the corner. For forty bucks.

Now all we need is a baby.

zygotic habitat restoration: check.

Ok. Thanks to the diligent efforts of d.w.'s and my various sets of parents (oh, those wacky modern families, you know), we finally have one room finished in our little experiment in perpetual home remodeling. And our little hatchling will be happy to know that his room was the first to cross the finish line, his impending arrival adding that sense of urgency critical to getting over that little wall you hit at about 93% completion. So let's take a little tour, shall we?


OK, for a little context we'll start with the big picture. Here is our house. One of the benefits of living in a place like Iowa, besides the creepily friendly populace, is that a cute little house with all the original woodwork (the flipside being all the original wiring) costs less than a college education. In case you're wondering, yes, that is a sea kayak. And yes, the nearest ocean is a couple of thousand miles away. And yes, it's just a little pathetic that I take it out on old quarries and reservoirs. But I'm getting off topic. Let's look at the hatchling's room.

    

Both d.w. and I agreed very early on that there would be a few ground rules for the baby's room. No teddy bear wallpaper border. No frilly furniture. No pastel colors. And for god's sake, no plastic crap. It was a long, hard slog, but I think we came out ok. I will admit we became a little bit obsessive about the whole thing, but with the fervor of true believers we stuck to our principles, even when descending into the design-god-forsaken bowels of Babies-R-Us.

So there you have it. Our quest completed, we can now sit back and patiently await the hatchling's arrival, confident in the power of clean lines and primary colors to soothe and succor an infant's ills.

Yeah, not too convincing, am I...

With only a few weeks left, "patient" and "confident" are probably not the first words I would choose to describe myself. "Deer in the headlights" is probably more appropriate:                  

a company that knows what kids dig

Just received the most recent issue of Ode, which contains their list of the 17 best green products and companies from 2006. Not sure why they chose 17 exactly, but sometimes these things are best chalked up to journalistic idiosynchrasy.

Therein was Paperpod, a UK company that makes assorted "creations" for kids out of plain old recycled cardboard. This, in my opinion, is one of the most brilliant ideas ever.

I mean, how many times are kids enthralled more by a gift's packaging than the gift itself? Besides, how fun would it be to break out a little cadmium red (mmm...cadmium...) with your toddler and go to town on a rocketship?

And? They're all less than fifty bucks. Same price as one of those horrible Elmo things, and a cardboard rocketship won't precipitate any unfortunate Bruce Banner moments on my part.

Just one more piece of the puzzle in our (likely futile) attempt to give the hatchling a battery-free childhood...

do you think it'll fit a carseat?

If d.w. and I ever decide we need to be a two-car family, I'm thinking one of these bad boys might be just the ticket:

Go ahead, absorb the awesomeness emanating from your computer screen. And for once, it's awesomeness only available in the Midwest. If you consider Chicago the Midwest, that is.

sort of a late mother's day post

My mom is so cool. I mean, she's Danish, and she's an artist, so I guess that automatically elevates her coolness quotient somewhat. She also manages to spend a good bit of the year living in Copenhagen, and I think it's pretty much impossible not to be cool when you have a European pied-a-terre. Anyway, I bring it up because the other day she sent me these pictures, attached to the following email:

Look what I found! I won't tell you the ordeal it was - had to stand in line with 35 numbers in front of mine to exchange money at the main train station, then walk back in sweltering heat to the shop where I had seen it, then carry it home through crowds of tourists in the same sweltering heat. But now it's here and looking adorable.

Talk to you soon,
Love, Mama

First of all, aren't moms great? (Actually, now that I look back at this email, I think it might have been meant as a guilt trip. Am I a bad son for not feeling guilty?)

Second of all, how awesome is that thing? Sure we'll be profiled on CNN as the "House of the Mutilated Children" after a few fingers are lost in what at first appears to be a medieval torture device. And yeah, if the zygote has as much nervous energy as his father (to which d.w. will mightly attest), he'll probably wiggle out of the chair 20 times a day. But so what? Lots of babies survived in the 1930's when the chair was new, and ours most likely will, too.

So now it seems the only hitch is actually getting ourselves out to Denmark after hatching time. Ah, details, details...

the wonders of freecycle

Fellow blogging dad-to-be Dad-To-Be wrote a post last week about the wonderful nonprofit organization Freecycle, which inspired me to ride his coattails and impart my two cents as well. If you don't already read his blog, you really should. And you know, there's no time like the present. It's OK. I'll wait.

[cue Muzak]

[Actually, while I'm at it I should mention a couple of other blogs by pregnant moms and dads (well, not literally pregnant dads — that would be weird) that everyone should read. So go give Papa Bradstein advice on what to name the yet-unnamed Baby Boy Bradstein (aka BBB, aka 3B), because all he's come up with so far is Bradstein Bradstein Bradstein. ("Like Toni Tony Tone. But different.") And you should go read about fellow twenty-something grad student the Incubator's dream about having multiples with Tom Cruise (Shhhh! The aliens will hear you!). (Oh, and on a side note, someone really should tell the Incubator that comments always get bounced back as undeliverable. She's probably wondering why she gets only stoney silence from readers...) I'm sure I'm missing some other good ones so please, Internet, who else out there is preggo and blogging?]

OK, thanks for coming on back.

So why do I bring up Freecycle, other than the fact that everyone should join because it is an ingenious counterpoint to a culture defined by transience and disposability? Well, no, I guess that's mostly why I brought it up. So if you haven't experienced the joy of Freecycle, here's how it works: There are thousands of Freecycle "communities" all over the world that each serve a small geographic area. Ours is for our county, for example. If you have something you don't need anymore, you can post a message offering it to anyone who wants it. If you want something, you can post that, too, and if someone has what you want and doesn't need it anymore, they'll pop you an email. No money changes hands, and there is no expectation of reciprocation at all. I'm sure some people abuse the system and just sell everything on eBay, but I've never been too concerned about it.

Actually, just today I gave the loveseat I mentioned the other day to another family through Freecycle. I had meant to sell it through a local consignment shop, but when d.w. and I went down there to talk to the scary makeup lady, we came away uneasy about the whole thing. You see, we had asked her whether we should clean it before bringing it in, and her response was, "Oh, it really doesn't matter. The college kids just want something to flop onto for a couple of years, and then they'll just leave it out on the street.

For d.w. and me, that seemed a little like kicking an elderly relative to the curb when they start to smell bad. So we decided the loveseat would find a better home by posting a message on Freecycle, which, you know, is more like sending the smelly elderly relative to go live with some random stranger from across town. That's better, right?

And it just so happens that yesterday, thanks to Freecycle, d.w. and I successfully ended our great quest for a non-plasticky, non-froo-froo, non-expensive highchair:

Yes, it's a little rusty and the vinyl cushions feel like they never got cleaned after the last baby sat in it in 1965. But it is so awesome nonetheless. All it needs is a little paint, a little industrial cleaner, and a steady hand to make sure it doesn't perform its magical folding act while someone is sitting in it.

And even if we decide we'd much rather have something like this, (although I hope someone would be merciful enough to shoot me first) the trip to go pick it up was totally worth it. We went down to this old farmhouse south of town to get it, and there was this slightly odd old woman there giving away all sorts of things from the tenants she's evicted from her apartment buildings. (Just in case you're curious, no, we did not take the highchair of a kid whose parents didn't pay the rent on time. This was the highchair her own kids used, the youngest of whom is 35.)

OK, so Farm Lady and d.w. are making small talk, when the conversation drifts to which organizations accept donations in our area. And all of a sudden, the conversation takes a turn for the surreal:

DW: You know, I used to work for Habitat for Humanity, and they operate a place called ReStore down in Des Moines, sort of a Goodwill for building supplies, and—

FL: Oh sure, my nephew Tom is the manager of the Des Moines ReStore. Maybe you know him?

DW: Um, I don't recall...

FL: Well, he worked for Habitat down in Georgia after college, but now he's back. He's such a nice boy. And you know, he's looking for a nice girl to settle down with.

DW: O...K...

That's right. The old farm lady tried to pimp out her nephew to my pregnant wife.

But now that I think about it, maybe we were too subtle about everything. 'Cause you know, there are lots of reasons a man and a visibly pregnant woman, both wearing wedding rings, might come by to pick up a highchair. I mean, we really couldn't expect her to know d.w. was about as unavailable as they come (and standing next to her husband), could we?

And who knows? Maybe Tom really is a nice boy.

a sweet hatchling propulsion system

Dude. I just had to share, when I saw this over at Daddy Types.

This is so the stroller we're getting. Sure it has all the safety features one would expect in something built in 1952, and sure it costs two months' pay. But oh. My. God. This thing rules.