When my girlfriends begin lamenting the loss of the “good old days” when our kids were toddlers, and we had total control, they are actually being a bit delusional. My recollections in those pre-Pamper” days still make my head swirl.
My world revolved around a stinky diaper pail and three dozen cotton gauze diapers. I know every baby needs to poop, but three or four times a day? And how can such a little one produce a stench that will empty a roomful of people in less than a minute? And if you are married to someone who get nauseated just thinking about the task at hand? After all that stinky poop is a result of his half of the genes. And when babies get diarrhea, especially when they were teething, I’d rush for a clean diaper. If they didn’t get changed immediately, we’d be in for a nasty bout of diaper rash.
During the fifties we owned an Easy Washer/Spinner” –sort of a pre-automatic washer, but no dryer. I did laundry twice a week, and hung all on the line. I simply can’t fathom how many diapers went through that machine. After they were dry, I’d spend another half hour folding the now sweet-smelling necessities.
Then I could relax, because once again we had a supply, if only for a few days.
Still, funny stuff could happen. One Saturday afternoon, we stopped at the Chocolate House on Monona Drive for ice cream cones. I’m sure either Kari or Lori encouraged the little brother Christopher to choose “Blue Moon.” He loved it—ate the whole thing.
Changing a stinky diaper the following day, I was shocked. Looking like something extra-terrestrial, his presentation was almost an iridescent turquoise. My shock turned to relief when I remembered what he eaten the day before.
When our neighbor Peggy carried her one-year-old Mike into the Cottage Grove bank, she proceeded to do her banking business at the window, balancing the kid on her hip. During the transaction, an unmistakable aroma hit her nose, and next, her eye caught the evidence—little brown pellets had escaped from Michael’s diaper and were now rolling around on the polished floor.
Beside herself with embarrassment, she somehow held the kid, opened her purse, bent over, scooped up the evidence, deposited it in her bag, and ran for the door.
Oh yeah—the good old days!
