After reading and responding to the topic - Mom cries in viral video when she can't find diapers to buy, I couldn't help but feel a topic on traditional cloth diapers was in order, and unlike so many parenting topics that exclude those without children, I've tailored this conversation as a generic one, where everyone, regardless of whether you have children or not, can voice their opinion and experience related to, so come on all you moms, grandmas, dads, and babysitters of the past, come share what you remember about the old days of cloth diapers, safety pins, and rubber pants.
Pin-pricks galore, the stinking diaper pails so strong with ammonia, the odour would burn at your nose and eyes when you lifted the lid to drop a diaper inside, and then there were the hot, greenhouse rubber pants. Those plasticy-rusting panties with stretchy elastics... off and on at every diaper-change, making for the cutest little balloon baby bottoms ever. When weather was hot and tiny little legs and feet were sweaty, trying to get all the piggy's in through the elasticized leg holes of rubber pants could prove to be a challenge at times, but all was remedied with a little dusting of baby powder applied to baby's feet, with a hint sprinkled inside the rubber pants for good measure.
Diapers on the line, diapers in the washing machine, diapers in the pail, diapers in the laundry basket waiting to be folded. When baby filled their pants, off to the bathroom we'd go with diapers in-hand, and assuming a safe position in relation to the toilet, and while holding onto diapers with an extra-firm grip, toilet flush lever was depressed, and poopy diapers were dunked up and down in the swirling toilet water until rinsed, followed by a quick hand-wring, and into the plastic diaper pail the didies would go.
My poor chapped hands, red and irritated around the clock. No amount of hand lotion cured the soreness, and then there were those unexpected moments, like when you'd open the dresser drawer to fetch a clean pair of rubber pants at change-time, only to realize that all of the rubber pants were in the diaper pail or hanging on the line.
Identifying a seasoned cloth diaper veteran was easy, for diaper pins were held between pursed lips when diapering, and when pants were changed, baby was off and running, and with a duck-like waddle, the result of bulky double diapers, all that could be heard was the unmistakable plastic beat of rubber pants rustling with baby's every step, and when baby got into something they knew better than to get into, a few light swats with the flat of ones hand on their rubber-panted bottom was all that was needed, for those rubber baby pants emitted the loudest plastic-popping sound ever, making the spanking sound far more serious than it was.
Ah, yes, those were the days.
Pin-pricks galore, the stinking diaper pails so strong with ammonia, the odour would burn at your nose and eyes when you lifted the lid to drop a diaper inside, and then there were the hot, greenhouse rubber pants. Those plasticy-rusting panties with stretchy elastics... off and on at every diaper-change, making for the cutest little balloon baby bottoms ever. When weather was hot and tiny little legs and feet were sweaty, trying to get all the piggy's in through the elasticized leg holes of rubber pants could prove to be a challenge at times, but all was remedied with a little dusting of baby powder applied to baby's feet, with a hint sprinkled inside the rubber pants for good measure.
Diapers on the line, diapers in the washing machine, diapers in the pail, diapers in the laundry basket waiting to be folded. When baby filled their pants, off to the bathroom we'd go with diapers in-hand, and assuming a safe position in relation to the toilet, and while holding onto diapers with an extra-firm grip, toilet flush lever was depressed, and poopy diapers were dunked up and down in the swirling toilet water until rinsed, followed by a quick hand-wring, and into the plastic diaper pail the didies would go.
My poor chapped hands, red and irritated around the clock. No amount of hand lotion cured the soreness, and then there were those unexpected moments, like when you'd open the dresser drawer to fetch a clean pair of rubber pants at change-time, only to realize that all of the rubber pants were in the diaper pail or hanging on the line.
Identifying a seasoned cloth diaper veteran was easy, for diaper pins were held between pursed lips when diapering, and when pants were changed, baby was off and running, and with a duck-like waddle, the result of bulky double diapers, all that could be heard was the unmistakable plastic beat of rubber pants rustling with baby's every step, and when baby got into something they knew better than to get into, a few light swats with the flat of ones hand on their rubber-panted bottom was all that was needed, for those rubber baby pants emitted the loudest plastic-popping sound ever, making the spanking sound far more serious than it was.
Ah, yes, those were the days.
Such a compassionate soul I am. 
lol