Life as a New Mom: In Defense of Disposable Diapers

Sometimes being a mom stinks… literally.

My daughter is now five months old. She’s in the midst of some serious teething, and she had another round of immunizations this week; needless to say she felt awful, and my sweet little girl morphed into a shrieking she-beast last night. Despite a myriad of medications, remedies, and lullabies, there was nothing I could do to deactivate Baby Banshee Mode.

With a little luck and even more desperate prayers, I finally got my little lady to sleep. She’d doze for a few hours, and then we’d repeat the process—only I wasn’t getting any sleep. In between bouts of teething terror, I cuddled up with my trusty Galaxy S3 and did what any sleepless mom would do—FACEBOOK TIME.

One of my Facebook friends—let’s call her EcoMom—is amazing. I am not convinced she is human, because this girl must NEVER rest in between growing organic food for her kiddos, breastfeeding, attachment parenting, and basically making everything her kids eat or wear by hand. She’s like a one-woman Etsy shop, only she doesn’t sell anything—she’s just SuperMom. EcoMom made me literally laugh out loud with a post the other day about how she’s considering Elimination Communication with her latest child (Yes; that is a real thing. Look it up.).

It was a refreshing break from EcoMom’s normal posts, which are basically shaming any and all mothers who use or have even considered using disposable diapers for their complete and utter lack of compassion for Mother Earth. I’m serious. For this girl, disposable diapers are a Cardinal Sin.

Let me preface the rant that follows by saying that I understand the carbon footprint our using disposable diapers leaves. I get it. If you are using cloth diapers for your child, I salute you. You are a far better woman than I, because when it comes to going green—I can’t when I am on diaper duty.

I am four years older than my little sister and eight years older than my baby brother, and I remember all too well the straight-up hassle hell my mom went through using cloth diapers. My mom is a candidate for sainthood for the consistent grossness of cloth diapering back in the day. There are plenty of options now when it comes to cloth diaper convenience—sizes, shapes, colors—all with easy snap-on closures and no scary diaper pins. There are even toilet attachments that afford you the option of hosing down diapers and flushing the nasty away without having to get down in it.

I think all those things are awesome. I do, y’all. I really do. But I just can’t.

Maybe I am a bad mother. Maybe I don’t have a strong stomach, but in those moments that my baby produces some waste that makes me want to don a hazmat suit before changing her, I am eternally grateful for disposable diapers. I gag; I change her, and I toss the unholy stench into the Diaper Genie—and we’re done.

I don’t have to rinse any nasty off a cloth diaper. I don’t have to wash a cloth diaper. I just fold it up, toss it out, and never have to see it again. Well, except when I have to empty the depressingly misnamed Diaper Genie. (I wish it lived up to its “Genie” end of the bargain and turned diapers into money or just granted the occasional wish.) Technology is glorious.

EcoMom may hate me. Captain Planet may hate me, but man, do I love disposable diapers.