The Nappy Diaries
Created | Updated Nov 9, 2005
The moment was at hand, the time finally come. After nine endless months that seemed to go by in a flash, we were about to hear the doctor tell us what a beautiful baby girl we had. The pink Winnie-the-Pooh sleeper and cap were in the overnight bag just waiting to be worn. Mr B's thoughts were of plaiting pigtails, while I was concentrating a bit further in the future, to the point where I would understand why my mother always said having adult daughters was worth the cost of having to raise little girls.
'It's a boy!'
It's what? Are you sure?
Much to everyone's constant annoyance, I had bucked the trend of finding out my baby's gender in advance. I wanted a daughter, and I didn't want someone coming along early on telling me I was going to have a boy. I wanted to think about dolls and dresses without distraction. I wanted to browse the frilly booties and pink blankies while shopping for my necessities; I wanted to consider flowery bedsheets, I wanted to compare the lacy nightgowns with the far more practical footed bunny pyjamas. I figured at the end of nine months I'd be happy enough to have a baby, and not so concerned with whether it was a son or a daughter.
Of course, I was realistic about it, too. Most of the clothes we bought in advance were boys things that we could make girly in a pinch with accessories. We had more than our fair share of white, yellow and green things - clothes, towels, sheets, blankets, toys... And, naturally, next to the pink Pooh sleeper in the overnight bag was the more neutral white tee-shirt, yellow jacket and green striped bottoms. Just in case, you see.
I think I was just a little disappointed at first. Briefly. But in no time at all I was deeply in love with my youngest son, and happily returned the little dresses. Well, most of them anyway. I may still get a little niece some day.
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I've spent a good deal of time comparing my own experiences — it's been nearly ten years since I've been on diaper duty! A lot has changed, yet much remains the same. One thing that's changed is the number of magazines I've subscribed to, and newsletters as well. So much information to digest! I wasn't online ten years ago and so could limit the ammount of conflicting advice I received; at least to a degree.
Nowadays I just have to take all that advice with a grain of salt. Putting some of the information to practical use could yield worthy results, be they positive, humourous, dumb or downright disastrous. So I present to you my new (hopefully) regular column: The Nappy Diaries.
By way of introduction I'd like to list our primary participants for future reference:
- broelan: (that's me!) Mom Almighty
- Mr B: My husband, the daddy, not to be confused with Master B; his long-deserted U-space is here.
- broe jr: My oldest son, now 10.
- SuperChunk: The newbie, born the day of the HHG film release, forcing me to surrender my pre-purchased tickets.
- Mark: My ex, junior's dad. Still a member of the family in good standing; his cobwebby U-space is here.
Next Issue: Living in a generationally diverse household, or It Takes A Village.
