Do please remind me to tell others to mind their own business

Today was the fusspot and my last commute from City Y back to NYC. 15 times this semester I have packed up my baby, hopped on the subway, rode a 4+ hour train, hopped on another subway and found myself in City Y. We now know where all the elevators are, the conductors recognize us, and I was expecting today to end on a high note for all those (mostly family members) who doubted I could pull off working 6 hours away from where I live with a fusspot in tow. And even though it was an entirely trivial issue today, I'm pissed.

The issue today, a la Geohde, was poo.

We cloth diaper primarily for environmental reasons (I will fully confess that having fallen in love with the very priciest one-size pocket diapers out there, I'm not at all convinced that we are saving more than a trivial amount of money with cloth diapers, especially since we don't have a washer in our apartment so we perpetually have to feed our building's machine truly monumental stacks of quarters), but over time I have become increasingly convinced of their superior ability to hold in poo. To be precise, the type of watery, super-gross poo that breastfed babies sometimes hold onto for days.

So you can guess what happened on the train today.

I get so much flack from my MIL, nanny, and relatives in City Y about cloth diapers that I caved and used the pampers my relatives had purchased for me for this trip since the fusspot and I were in City Y for well under 24 hours. And that is precisely why instead of having a calm, quiet evening after returning to NYC I instead had to bathe my baby, throw in a load of laundry (because you cannot let poo ferment on her very cutest bright green and pink dress), and am now trying to battle the seatbelt straps out of the carseat so I can through them in the wash. And of course, when this particular incident took place the fusspot had both of her pacifiers under her rear end so we had to make it all the way home with a very tired, fussy baby who had neither pacifier nor her mother's fingers to soothe her (have you ever seen soap in a train bathroom?)

Which of course brings us to food. I got a very long lecture today from a relative (who was an L and D nurse) about how I absolutely must start solids on the fusspot's 6 month birthday. She told me horror stories about babies who were neglected and did not start solids until 9 months and they had to go to physical therapy to adapt. There was a long quasi-scientific explanation about how you have to get babies used to eating during that very limited window when they are old enough not to choke but still willing to try new things. And I agree entirely. It's just that I honestly don't believe the window is nearly as small as Americans tend to think. I just don't believe that the WHO and other major international health organizations would promote exclusive breastfeeding for longer than 6 months if it was so dangerous. And I certainly know that second children in families with allergies are often told to delay solids by months. My baby is growing well, and I have no supply issues. We're about to disrupt so many of her routines and put her in an entirely new apartment and start daycare. I am already expecting a serious sleep regression. I just don't want to rush solids.

I'm honestly thinking of delaying solids until 7 or 8 months. Scandal!

Ah well, we'll see what medical studies my pediatrician can pull up on Friday to convince me that the fusspot will never, ever grow into a healthy child who enjoys ice cream and cupcakes if I delay solids by a month or two.