Cloth Diapering, Poop, and Humility

Yeah, that’s a promising post title, isn’t it?

Some of you may know that we have been cloth diapering the Wee Goon since he was about six weeks old. Ish. I didn’t write down the date or anything. Now, cloth diapering these days isn’t what it used to be. These aren’t your grandmother’s cloth diapers. You can get diapers that have snaps and go on just like a disposable, and then you put a cover over them. You can get diapers that are all one piece – and All-In-One or AIO – and are both the absorbent part and waterproof part. You can get diapers that you “stuff” with absorbent material, so that you can put extra in for at night, but then it comes apart to dry faster. Et cetera.

And you can get a diaper sprayer.

No more swishing the cloth diaper in the toilet to get the poop off before you wash it.

Unless you don’t have a diaper sprayer. Then you swish.

I don’t have a diaper sprayer.

It falls under the same category as “getting a better mop.” I would like a better mop. But we are getting by with the one we have. Sure, you have to hand-wring it to get the water out. Sure, it leaves behind enough dampness that unless the wood stove is lit, it takes For. Ever. to dry. But it’s manageable. Yeah, same category. I can swish the diapers. I’m not going to die from it. People have been doing it for decades. Thus, I don’t want to spend the money. Maybe I’m cheap. I like to think I’m frugal. But I’m probably just cheap. Then again, I would prefer to spend money on books than I would on housekeeping items that make life simpler. Go figure.

I was, admittedly, having a bit of a pity party recently. See, those of you in the cloth diapering realm know that once a baby is no longer exclusively breastfed, his stools tend to firm up. Breastfood stool… well, not so much. Anyway… the Wee Goon was introduced to solids months ago. And occasionally they are solid… but for the most part, they are… not. So it’s not like I can just open up his cloth diaper and “plop” it into the toilet… no, I’m still swishing. As I was saying… I was having a pity party. And then I was reading this blog post over at No Greater Joy Mom… and it was detailing a family’s experience in adopting a young boy from a mental institution in eastern Europe.

Yes, you read that correctly. Once children with special needs (Downs Syndrome, physical ailments, HIV+, etc) reach a certain age (normally four or five years), they are transferred from an orphanage where they are available for adoption, to an institution where adoptions are NOT an option. This family was the very first to ever adopt from this institution, and they detailed their time there. They also talk on their blog about the ongoing ministry that is happening there. Anyway… I read this:

In that lowest functioning group of outdoor boys, there were three older ones whom we got to know. They had a job carrying things back and forth from their shed area to their building, strange benches with multiple holes, so we saw them every day. All three were precious. One laughed and called out to Aaron and to us with glee every time he passed. His vocabulary was limited, but he always spoke with gusto. His legs were bent at odd angles, and one was much longer than the other, so he hobbled up and down the path each day; but he always laughed and clapped his hands, filled with joy. The second was silent, lost in his own world. He stared at us from a distance and gave us crooked smiles. The third was a sweet angel with Down Syndrome. He was short, bowlegged and as gentle as can be. Alone of the three, this one would wander over to spend time with us. He gently handled and played with Aaron’s toys. He spoke to us softly. He was a perfect gentleman in his behavior. Unfortunately, in his person he was anything but gentlemanly. His smell was overpowering, and when he offered his hand for us to shake, we could see why: his hands were stained with excrement.

Read the entire post here. Go ahead, I’ll wait.

Are you back? Okay.

Talk about being humbled. I read this, and I realized that it was a blessing to be able to “swish” my son’s diapers. I am blessed to be able to do that for him. He is blessed to have a mother, a family, to keep him in diapers. He is so blessed. We are so blessed. I cannot find the words to express what this means. I’m still thinking it over. But I had to share this with you.

May God use the plight that is faced by these boys to change your heart, as well.