Two years ago, as the oceans continued to warm and the ice caps continued to melt, my wife and I tried to do our part by affixing a cloth swath to our child's rear end. The gesture, though unnoticed by Greenpeace or Al Gore, drew murmurs of amazement at our favorite local park, where other parents revered us as oddball eco-warriors and marveled at our strange, selfless decision to give up convenience for a noble cause.
It was just the reaction I'd been hoping for.
Like composting and Prius ownership, opting for cloth diapers has a virtuous glow—it's a sign of your willingness to tiptoe lightly across the earth. Though it's not grand enough to save the glaciers, once you've added children to a crowded planet, acquired a landfill's worth of plastic toys, and purchased an OPEC-boosting family wagon to haul around your progeny and possessions, well, you'll take solace anywhere you can.
Whether our choice was truly eco-friendly is, of course, a subject of much debate—especially if you pay heed to studies funded by companies that profit from the disposables. But it basically comes down to a choice between 100 percent cotton and chemical-laden disposable synthetics. To borrow a phrase beloved by big business, the decision seemed like a "no-brainer" to me.
However, some of our stated motives weren't environmental. Cloth diapers, we boasted (repeating information we'd gleaned from Google), were better for our children's bottoms. They were cheaper than the $80 or so per month we'd spend on disposables. And they'd hasten potty training, the idea being that toddlers are less likely to put up with soaked-through cotton than conventional diapers capable of absorbing the Caspian Sea.
Cloth diapers also had the added benefit of appearing labor-intensive; as any parent knows, martyrdom can provide immeasurable pleasure. I savor those moments when fellow fathers watch in awe as I change a diaper. From the looks on their faces, you'd think I was performing neurosurgery on the playground. What I don't tell them is that, after a few days of practice, the difference in difficulty between cloth and disposable is next to none—like a driver switching from automatic to stick. (My own parents aren't fooled. Having lived through an age when cloth was not only de rigueur but also came with the perils of safety pins, they watch unimpressed as I work with the Velcro on today's incarnations.)
But I'll continue to soak up praise (and cling to my smugness) as long as my children remain in diapers. And with any luck, my small act of eco-heroism will help prevent the seas from rising to unspeakable levels—at which point we may all face a challenge staying dry.
