text: Note To Myself (For When I Don't Feel As Confident As I Do Right Now)
  Last week, I with dealing with almost constant anxiety, as several women I knew were being induced or having c-sections scheduled to get babies here before Christmas, and I was reminded every time I logged onto Facebook. This article was the catalyst for a very serious thinking session. Then I realized something very important for myself.
  It was my choice to have a cesarean.
  Absolutely my choice. Just like it was my choice to labor at home, to limit the number of tests run, to limit the number of ultrasounds done. Just like it is my choice (and Bear's) to have Bean on a selective/delayed vaccination schedule, to take him everywhere with us instead of having a babysitter, to use homeopathic and natural remedies for ourselves and Bean unless we need something more, to cloth diaper.
  I had (and have) complete faith and trust in our midwife, but I could have told her, "no," when she told her assistant to call 9-1-1. I could have refused to allow the paramedics to take me into the ambulance. I could have denied consent to the operation by not signing the papers presented to me at the hospital. I could have said, "no," until the very moment the anesthesiologist injected the stuff to knock me out.
  I am one of the very lucky women in this country to have an emergency cesarean section without being bullied or forced into it. I agreed to this decision because it was the best choice for my baby and me. I made the choice based on the sound advice of my trusted practitioner, who actually had nearly the same exact thing happen to her.
  While the whole experience was very surreal and seemed to happen in both an instant and an eternity, I was still completely aware of what was going on. Even though I wasn't in control of how my baby acted during the birthing process, I was in control of my reaction to his actions.
  I have known this, to an extent, since it happened. I guess the PTSD is blinding in a way, and that this is another step in my healing process. I still hate that I had to have a c-section, but I'm hating it less. My scar is less of a painful reminder and more of a source of amazement (my kid came out of that?!). I even managed a trip the other day to the maternity ward we lived on for a week after his birth, to bring cookies to a friend who just had her baby, and left without a panic attack.
  I'm still dealing with a lot of "what-if"s and anxiety, panic attacks, hard feelings against the OB who performed the c-section for threatening me afterwards, and frustration at memory loss from moments I was hoping to cherish forever. I still have a long way to go, but I'm so grateful to have gotten this far.
  Cloth Diapering - The Never-ending Journey (or Laundry)
  My cloth diaper journey began when I was just a baby. My mother tells me that I was terribly allergic to disposable diapers and had awful rashes until she switched to cloth. Of course, back then, it was still the giant square folded and held together with a big pin.
  Fast-forward to about 18, I discovered through some random Google searching that cloth diapers had become much cooler. At that point, I knew I wanted to have kids some day, and I knew already that I would cloth diaper them when I did. That Google search revealed that cloth diapers now came in an array of colors, and with snaps! Awesome!
  Another decade later, and I found out that I was expecting my first child. I started looking up cloth diapers, and the options were overwhelming, to say the least. So many acronyms! So many options! Which would be easiest? How do you clean them? Can I get a separate washer specially for the diapers? Ewwww... baby poo!
  I watched all the videos. I did my darnest to learn the names of the different kinds. I read about how to make laundry detergent for them. And I don't know if it was the preggo-brain or what, but NONE of it stuck. I had a few friends graciously lend me several diapers of a few different kinds (don't ask me what), and even received a few as gifts. Bear and I carefully washed and set aside a few special ones to be ready for when Bean made his entrance.
  And then: D-Day. Since we had planned a home birth, we were entirely unprepared for our stay in the hospital. I don't think cloth diapers even crossed my mind until Bear mentioned them a few days into our week long stay. We had no way of washing them, or even storing them, during our time at the hospital, so disposables it was.
  When we finally went home, one of the nurses stocked us up on newborn diapers, as well as wipes and a handful of other baby stuff. I felt a little guilty once we got home and he was still in disposables, but it wasn't too bad, because at least we hadn't paid for them, and he wasn't having any adverse reactions to them.
  And then we ran out.
  2 weeks post-partum, and I was still having a difficult time getting in and out of bed. In fact, I think that's when Bean and I started sleeping in the recliner, since we had not yet mastered side-lying nursing, and sitting up multiple times through the night was impossible. I knew there was no way I was going to be able to do the laundry that cloth diapers required. Bear asked me if I wanted to start using the cloth diapers, and I reluctantly shook my head no. I felt so guilty with that first box of diapers, and even more so with the second. I was guilty over the cost; we were already on a limited income, and the cloth diapers were supposed to be an answer to that. My laziness (as I saw it then) was costing us money we didn't have. And that was nothing compared to the guilt I felt over Bean. Wouldn't he be more comfortable in cloth, even if the disposables weren't causing a rash with him? I just knew I was a terrible wife and mother.
  Another few weeks, and I started feeling well enough to do a little light work around the house. I immediately jumped at the chance to start cloth diapering. And I hated it. Despised it. I wanted to quit so bad. The disposables were so much easier, I whined to one of the friends who had loaned me a bunch of cloth. And then the guilt was overwhelming again, I was a terrible mother for whining, for hating the cloth, for wanting to give up on something I had been secretly passionate about for years. My friend reminded me that I was still healing, and the cloth took work, and that I was by no means a terrible mother. Even if I went back to only disposables, I was not failing. She told me that whatever caused the least stress was what would be best for my family, and assured me that I would not lose my quasi-crunchy card if I stopped cloth diapering. I was adamant about sticking with the cloth, though, so she lovingly suggested trying 3 cloth diapers a day and working my way up from there. It would still save us money, but it would not be as overwhelming as the sudden transition had been.
  Something clicked. I didn't hate cloth anymore, but by this time, Bean was quickly outgrowing the newborn size cloth, which was pretty much all we had. Shortly after finding out I was pregnant and wanted to cloth diaper, my MIL had found a pack of unused pre-folds at a yard sale. Just as Bean was outgrowing the newborn, she remembered the pre-folds and gave them to us. Which was awesome, but we had no covers for them.
  A few days later, Bear, Bean, and I attended the local event for "The Big Latch On," a breastfeeding awareness event. There we ran into a friend of mine who also cloth diapers. She also happens to be the local GroVia Advocate, and had 4 extra GroVia Hybrid AI2 shells.* She told us that we could use our pre-folds with the shells, and Bear bought them right away.
  Now, I am in love. The shells are all we use and all we need. I usually end up doing laundry about once a day, since we still only have 12 pre-folds. I plan to get more, but for now it is enough.
  I write this as a reminder to myself that no one is perfect, and we do the best we can until we can do better, and that everyone's journey is different. Oh, and that baby poo diapers are really not that gross after all.
  *The author was not compensated in any way by the company. All opinions expressed herein are solely the author's.