I Hate Cloth Diapers

There, I said it.

I. Hate. Cloth. Diapers.

Once upon a time, I loved cloth diapers. I adored them. I thought they were the best things ever.

I…was kind of lame. Lamer than I am now, at any rate.

The long and the short of it was this: When Oldest Boy was born in February of 2010, right away he got a horrible, horrible diaper rash. It was so bad, and no matter how much diaper cream I slathered on, no matter which brand of disposables it was, there was nothing that would soothe his poor, blistered, bright red bum.

Until one day I learned that a friend of mine was cloth diapering and I was all, “Why not? I’ve tried everything else.”

And to my delight, Oldest Boy’s rash went away. Seemingly overnight. I declared it a miracle and we’ve cloth diapered ever since then. So for the past (almost) five years, I have had at least one child in said cloth diapers, and usually two. Right now, though, The Baby is the only one wearing said diapers, and I have to say, the Fuzzi Bunz have totally held up well. They have been through three children, and only now, as The Baby approaches two, are they really starting to show signs of wear. And even so, I am confident that they will make it to potty training. I might even sell most of them, because they are in good enough condition (I think) for another child to use them.

But I digress.

The point of this is, I’m tired of washing them. I’m tired of hanging them on my drying rack. I’m tired of stuffing them and stacking them in the small bookcase that we purchased for no other purpose than diaper storage (although once The Baby is potty trained, I am totally filling that shelf with books).

And I mean, at one point, I really did like cloth diapering. Since I totally failed at breastfeeding, you know, three times, it seemed like a way I could do right by my kids when my boobs totally did not work. The diapers are cute. Way cuter than disposables. And I liked seeing little fluffy butts running around. Plus, I never have had to worry about something being too big in the waist. Hooray for added bulk!

But all of that being said, I feel like I am ready to let this stage of life be over. As much as we call our youngest The Baby, the fact is, he isn’t much of a baby any more. He talks now. Not a lot–it’s mostly babbling–but it’s very emphatic (he points his finger and bangs his fist), and he does say things like, “Play dis” “Want dis” “Mama keys!” Every day he does something else to make me realize that his babyhood is slipping away, and that will only be solidified when he turns two in March. And while I look at him and the thought of him leaving babyhood behind and growing up makes me sad, I know there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

And while I cling to what’s left of his babyhood by snuggling him extra and rocking him to sleep at night and calling him The Baby…

…I can’t wait for those diapers to go.

Is it unreasonable to hope that he will potty train himself tomorrow and I can do my final load?