Three dozen nappies freshly washed and folded

Over fifty years ago, as a naive and very young first-time mother, I had very little idea of what was required for a new baby. Having only just adjusted to having a husband, I thought that I could just carry my baby around in a Moses basket and dress her in tie-dyed nighties and singlets. I would breastfeed as needed and let her sleep with me in bed. I would dance in fields of daisies with rabbits and lambs gambolling about while I crooned to the small being I had given birth to. I soon had those ideas challenged. I was instructed by other young mums that you had to have three dozen nappies – flannelette, fluffy, freshly washed and folded – waiting for the arrival of the little one. Reality bites.

And so the furnishing of a nursery began. Being a hippie, I was a little free range and overly idealistic, but soon complied by accepting my friend’s cast offs. A sweet bassinet with a soft quilted blanket, various baby clothing items and I finally managed to purchase the expensive but coveted three dozen nappies. I was advised to wash them first in lux flakes and hang them on the line in the sunshine with a stiff breeze to make them soft and fluffy. I was then to put them in a neat pile in the nursery to wait for the arrival of baby, along with Johnson’s baby powder and some safety pins.

And so the journey began. Living in the cold and damp South Island of New Zealand, the winters were harsh and cold. We had few luxuries, so drying nappies required a lot of ingenuity. If I hung them out in a frost, with frozen fingers, they would bleach white quite naturally. In summer, a searingly hot nor wester would render them fluffy and make them smell fresh and sweet. Oh, but if there were weeks of rain, a drying rack with no heater was hugely difficult. I even resorted to turning the oven on, and then off and putting them in to dry them off. Baked nappy anyone? They came out stiff and gave the poor baby nappy rash.

But oh the things I learned. Different nappy folding techniques. Different for when I had a boy. And the necessity of avoiding pricking the poor child with a safety pin. I became quite adept at managing these talents. Alongside the nappies were a sort of woollen wrap that you used outside of the nappy to avoid leakage, and then we moved on to fluffy pants to hold in the damp. Blue strips of cloth could be put inside to help easily lift out the stinky solids, so you could soak the nappies in a bucket before washing. It was a lot of work.

By the time I became a grandma, nappies were out of vogue, except for the few earth mothers living in communities in the bush. I suggested the purchase of three dozen cloth nappies and was almost bowled over with the look of scorn on my daughter’s face. And so the journey of disposable nappies began. I have to admit the washing was less, but crikey they are expensive and responsible for masses of landfill. Also, they smell pretty rank when left in the bin for pick-up day.

So when I walk past the disposable nappies in the supermarket, I have a brief but nostalgic memory of those three dozen nappies pegged on the hills hoist drying in the sun, and the satisfaction of folding them up ready for the next encounter with baby’s bottom.