Woo Hoo, look at me, I am posting about Olivia being three months old on the actual day that she turns three months old! I have more than three whole hours left in this day during which Olivia turned three months old, and even I can accomplish a post in the time. When y’all told me it would get better, you weren’t kidding.
Let’s see… what sort of updates can I pull out of my ass without going back to see what I told you about the last time I was telling you things about Olivia? Well, we are now almost 100% cloth diapering her, unless I am feeling super lazy or can tell she’s about to poop, in which case I have no qualms about slapping a disposable diaper on her ass and calling it good. Unlike my buddy TemerityJane, I have discovered that I am a one style of diaper sort of cloth diaper-er, and that style is pocket diapers, because that shit makes sense to me. There’s a pocket, and you put some absorbent stuff in it. Of course, there are still a million variables when only using one style of diaper- how much to stuff? Of what fiber is your stuffing made? How much to pay for that fucking cute design? I can go on at length about any and all of these variables, but the short version is: a little during the day, and more at night; hemp, all the way; and any price really.
While I enjoy all the environmental perks of cloth diapering, and the cute designs on Olivia’s butt, I have to say that my favorite part of cloth diapering is that I have discovered the exact combination of diaper and stuffing that allows me not to change her in the middle of the night. Sure, her diaper weighs a good pound in the morning, but she’s dry, and I didn’t have to unswaddle her in the dark. WIN.
If the entire Internet wanted to yell “I TOLD YOU SO” at me in unison, I would have to just accept it, because indeed, things continue to improve around here, just like the Internet told me it would. Of course, this is not to say that I don’t sob “WHAT DO YOU WANT I SWEAR I WILL GIVE IT TO YOU” at her while bouncing and jiggling and wandering all over the house anymore, because I do, but it doesn’t seem to happen so…. regularly anymore.
Speaking of bouncing- Olivia likes to be encouraged to sleep by having one of us sit on a large exercise ball and bounce up and down. Over and over and over again. It’s boring and back-breaking, but it gets her to sleep, and sometimes if the stars align properly, you can watch TV while bouncing, like so:
If you follow me on Twitter you’ll already know the punchline to this story, which is that the above pictured ball up and burst on me. While I was on it. It happened so damn fast I didn’t even know it had popped until I found myself on the ground, clutching the baby and sort of looking around, wondering why my perspective was different than it had been a minute ago. It just occurred to me, right now, as I was typing, that the reason it didn’t scare either one of us is that it happened COMPLETELY SILENTLY. No bang, no pop, no nothing. One minute on the ball, the next on my ass on the floor.
I thought that I could handle life without the bouncing ball- I could walk in circles, I could sway, I could… whatever, there are a million ways to soothe a fussy baby, and an exercise ball isn’t going to break me, oh no siree Bob. Oh, god, I am just a caricature at this point, no? That afternoon Olivia started fussing and it ramped up and up and up until I completely lost my temper and had to put her down and leave the room, which made her cry harder and then picking her back up made her cry more and OH MY GOD if I could just bounce her on the ball everything would be so much better, I SWEAR (look, I said things were getting BETTER, not that we were shitting pots of gold over here).
Needless to say, there is a brand spanking new exercise ball in my living room. Here, look at my baby some more:
I SAID, LOOK AT MY BABY:
I got nothing else, really- we’re still operating on five hours of sleep, I can’t figure out when or how to eat a proper meal, and showering is… something other people do. But it’s better. Really.