exhibit Z that too much internet research can only lead to ruin

After spending at least 8 hours researching the best detergent for cleaning cloth diapers, I decided on this stuff called Charlie's Soap. It had hundreds of five-star reviews, and was glowingly recommended by diaper retailers, moms in the "cloth diapering community" (yes, there is such a thing), and several of my friends. It's an all-natural soap made of coconut oil and washing soda, and if the reviews and manufacturer are to be believed, will leave your clothes soft, stain- and fade-free; will clear up skin problems you may have; and will make your clothes fit so well that you'll look ten pounds lighter and years younger!

This weekend, I spent another 8 hours and untold gallons of water "stripping" our washing machine (since Charlie's is supposed to work best when you get rid of all residues from old detergents), washing our new cloth diapers five times (since you have to do that to make them absorbent), and starting to wash all of our own clothes and linens in this miracle soap of the gods. I also washed every single article of baby clothing in Charlie's, from onesies to  swaddlers to receiving blankets, lovingly folding and organizing them as I congratulated myself for being so eco-friendly, so caring of my baby's skin, so conscientious as to build her a little bubble into which no phthalates, endocrine disruptors, sulfates, or other bogeymen shall enter.

Then, while seeking more information about how to use Charlie's, I came across dozens of forums where mothers reported their babies have gotten blistering, oozing chemical burns from diapers washed in it. I started to worry. I spent another few hours reading more reports from both sides: Charlie's is a miracle soap! Charlie's is the devil's soap! Charlie's works great if you add five other things to your machine and do five extra rinses, but if you only do four rinses, your baby's butt will turn crimson and she'll hate you for life! I started to wonder whether I'd made a mistake. I told Ben. Ben mocked me and said it would be fine.

Ben just called from work, where he is visiting the on-site medical clinic as he has suddenly developed hives all over his body. I guess I should be glad that I only poisoned my husband and not my baby, but I still feel terrible. Could this be the sign I need to give up my addiction to online reviews? Maybe this is the universe's way of telling me to chill out about being eco-friendly, non-toxic and natural. Maybe I should head to Wal-Mart to stock up on Huggies, formula, cheap plastic noise-making toys, and Tide.

If I can't even get this right....I give up. Why couldn't I have been a mother in the 50s, when there was ONE way to do things? One baby book (Dr. Spock), one diapering option (have your housekeeper change your baby using cloth diapers and pins), and one way to give birth (completely unconscious, while dad drank whiskey in the waiting room). 

UPDATE: So I may have overreacted a little. It turns out Ben was reacting to some contact that he had with fiberglass. (Our hot water heater is wrapped in a blanket that sheds fiberglass, and he was dutifully checking the water temperature as recommended by our baby books.) But I am still conflicted about this soap issue. Should I continue to wash our stuff in Charlie's, or start over (which will require me to rewash all the baby clothes multiple times in a new detergent)?

in case you were wondering

Since 2003, I've tried to explain to countless people why I dropped out of grad school. This about sums it up:

http://gawker.com/5861448/report-english-lit-professors-write-too-much-boring-crap

I'm too lazy to read the original article, so I can't say that I wholeheartedly buy into this argument. I know that many of my colleagues from Duke are teaching amazing, inspiring classes at colleges across the country. But that was not to be my path. Can you imagine how stressed I would be on a daily basis, considering how taxing it was for me to teach high school classes? You can't give college students a list of vocabulary words and tell them to spend the period making flash cards when you're out of ideas! I would probably be bald (due to stress-induced trichotillomania), fat, or both if I had finished my Ph.D. and were now teaching in higher ed.

Anyway, some of my sleepless hours lately have been consumed by that pesky, familiar themes: What if I had... and Ack! It will be at least three years until...[we can buy a house, I have an established career, etc.] Coming across this article helps validate at least one of the decisions that brought me to this point.

Yes, I swallowed a beach ball

For those readers who aren't on Facebook, here are a few pictures of my ever-expanding girth!

World’s Greatest

For my sixth birthday, my sister gave me a stuffed “World’s Greatest” doll. He was the koala  in Shirt Tales, a Saturday morning cartoon we would watch at 6:30 a.m., fortified with Fruity Pebbles while our parents slept (a tradition I plan to replicate in my own family). This was just one in a long line of unbelievably selfless gifts and gestures that Beth would give me over the years. The next year, she slaved over a homemade dollhouse complete with hand-knitted curtains and cardboard furniture. And during my Awkward Sophomore Year of Having No Friends, she invited me to come along with her and her much cooler friend, Scarlett, on their beach trips and jaunts to Taco Bell. She even took me to my first high school party, where I probably mortified her by primly refusing to take even a sip of alcohol, believing as I did that one drink would instantly cause me to lose control of my faculties and then spew all over everyone. (If all fifth graders responded to D.A.R.E. like I did, the program would be a sweeping success instead of the national joke it really is!)

Well, true to form, Beth threw me the World’s Greatest baby shower last weekend! I now have one lifelong dream ticked off my list, as she recreated the “Best Friends’ Outing” from Best Friends for Frances, one of the formative books of my childhood. I can’t overstate how much the Frances books shaped my childhood...and beyond. I spent years in search of the recording of the book that we once borrowed from the library. I finally found it on a 45”, so now I’ll be able to sing Frances’s silly songs to my daughter--whom I considered naming Gloria, after Frances’s little sister--to the tunes that Lillian and Russell Hoban intended. (“When the wasps and the bumblebees have a party, nobody comes who can’t buzz...”) 

And even though none of the guests, being normal and not obsessed with children’s books, had ever read the Frances series, they all appreciated the perfectly rendered tableau of all things Frances.

The story begins when Albert won’t let Frances and Gloria come along on his Wandering Day, for which he has “only” packed a small lunch, including cupcakes, apples and bananas, and a quart of chocolate milk.

Frances and Gloria get him back but good, when they set off with a hamper filled with “Nothing much. Hard boiled eggs and fresh whole tomatoes...carrot and celery sticks...cream cheese and chive sandwiches, cream cheese and jelly sandwiches too."

"Salami-and-egg and pepper-and-egg sandwiches."

"Cole slaw and potato chips, of course."

"Ice-cold root beer packed in ice."

"And there are other things I forget, like black and green olives and pickles and Popsicles and probably some pretzels and things like that. And there are salt and pepper shakers and napkins and a checked tablecloth, which is the way girls do it.”

Of course, Albert apologizes and they have a lovely co-ed picnic. Perfectly fitting for my co-ed shower, which I attempted to document with my new camera. But that will have to be another post! I'll leave you with a final shot of the father-to-be.

No baby shower would be complete without beer!