Diary of a cloth nappy family 2 – the hockey trip

…and on day three we vowed “never again”...

We’ve all had those periods where it seems we’re on the road more than we’re home, right? The three of us packed up our bags and headed off for our second interstate trip in a month. This time around, we were off to a hockey carnival representing not a club or an association, or a school etc… But a family. 50 family members trekked up to 8 hours for a few games of hockey in matching shirts for a memorable weekend. As for me, it was the first hockey game (and first high impact activity) since being pregnant and I expected muscle soreness, possible injury, and exhaustion. Spoiler alert, I was right, but more on that another time.

Who wants to be washing nappies in those conditions? I certainly didn’t! So off to the store for 5 days worth of disposable nappies. Given the success of our last trip; the lack of poomergencies, the overall satisfaction of the nappies and the lack of accidents requiring laundering, we packed light this time. Only a couple of onesies, trackies, singlet shirts, you get the idea. Horribly unprepared for the weather, but we thought we were prepared for the nappy situation.

I refer you now to my opening line… And on day three we vowed “never again”…

But first

Day one:

It’s was nice to see my nappies all lined up neatly packed away, and the latest load drying peacefully on the rack. When we get home I should get a photo of all of them together. I was taking my time packing, he’ll wear this onesie in the car toda-

What is that!?

Poomergency #1.

Guess that onesie is going in the wash. Dang. I’ll pack the onesie that is slightly too small.

An hour into the road trip…

*baby screaming on the freeway where we can’t pull over*

I pull out my hair until we come by a rest stop.

Hmm baby isn’t wanting to feed. What is going on!?

What is that!?

Poomergency #2.

Also, turns out that babies don’t enjoy being changed in the back seat of a car in the wind and rain. Noted, but unavoidable.

The spare onesie gets stuffed in a wetbag to be thought about later, and the pyjamas are put on. The *only* pyjamas.

Dear God of poonamies, please let this be the last one for today.

Day two:

After an overnight stop at the halfway mark, we head off again in the morning. The onesie had been rinsed and left behind, to be collected on the return trip. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

We reach our destination safely…we also didn’t crash or anything like that. No poops today. Eep.

Day three:

It’s so nice to have a quiet lie in… Baby and husband are having quality time in the lounge, the rest of the house haven’t gotten up yet, and I have the bed all to my-

“Elfie, can you come help me please? There’s a situation.”

The pyjamas. The *only* pyjamas.

Poomergency #3.

And on day three we vowed “never again”.

How do people live like this? 3 poomergencies, poosplosions, poonamies, fae-castrophes, whatever you want to call it, in three days, in just as many bowel motions, and more than we’ve had in the whole 7 months of cloth nappying.

One emergency shower, and two cycles in a less than adequate washing machine left the pyjamas too wet for bed that night, and hanging next to the fire. We decided not to risk using our last onesie. He went to bed in a tracksuit that night. Oh yeah, we played our hockey games today.

Day four:

Muscles aching, we rolled out of bed and onto the floor for the first nappy change of the day. Usual poop time.

Hallelujah! Praise be! The nappy has done its job! Poop contained, no need to launder the tracksuit or cry in the corner. Someone get this nappy a pay rise and a better office for achieving the bare minimum of its position description.

The pyjamas are still hanging damp next to the fire.

We get through our day of hockey spectating, pyjamas hanging in the car to dry, and make the first leg of our return journey seamlessly. No leaks, no emergencies, no change of clothes.

Day five:

Again I am blessed with a lie-in. I wake up to baby in a suspicious new change of clothes…the pyjamas.

Poosplosion #4.

I was not present for this unfortunate soiling of the pyjamas, but they droop, scarred and fragile, carefully folded over the arm of a chair. The young children are told “don’t jump on the baby stuff!” Little do they know why…

We bundle the pyjamas, the original abandoned onesie, and other casualties of the morning into a wetbag, and our baby into the car, beginning our final leg home.

We have no more emergencies.

After a long drive, it is pyjama time, but we make do with a onesie that barely fits over the comfort of the night nappy.

Snuggled in bed that night, we relish in being home, discuss how we’re going to manage cloth nappies over our Christmas holiday, and settle in for a normal, wakeful night.

Our routine starts again, our makeshift pyjamas are safe, and I do not begrudge hand washing a nappy first thing in the morning.

I never did get a photo of all our nappies. Too keen to dive right into the comfort of reliability.

Look at that tiny little butt.

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