The Hard Truth about Cloth Diapering

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You never forget the times when someone implies that you are a bad mother.

Recently, such a situation occurred in our church’s elevator. I had just nursed my daughter in the designated room and was traveling two floors to reach my husband and our Sunday school class. Sleep deprivation and perpetual nursing have a way of chronically weakening one, so I sent my daughter’s carrier and blanket with my husband. The baby and diaper bag were enough to juggle.

I entered the elevator with baby in arms. I took a deep breath, and the door began to close. Ah, a moment’s peace for communion with…

[Enter older, more experienced mother. Think Baby Boomer.]

“You’re wearing a jacket. Where’s hers?”

Few things sting quite like an unexpected, self-righteous bullet.

“Her blanket is with my husband.”

I departed with the kind of restraint that would make even Jesus proud.

We live in Southeast Georgia. The temperature reached the low-70s before the worship service ended just 90 minutes later.

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