Love-Knowledge Baby

A symbol strongly associated with babies, for some reason.

“Babies are EXPENSIVE!” someone exclaims.  Everyone nods in agreement.  Then the list begins, “Hospital bills, crib, diapers and more diapers!  Formula!  Not to mention that they outgrow their clothes in three blinks of an eye!”

That’s the current myth.  Heck, I believed it.  My pre-birth parenting skills seemed hinge on the THINGS I bought for the baby, as if buying tons of bottles, strollers, a gorgeous round crib (which I’ve been trying to sell for AGES, having never been used), pacifiers, diapers, etc. would prepare me for the most momentous life-change that I’d ever never be ready for.

That’s right ladies and gentlemen, I would never have been ready for motherhood until the moment was upon me.  Even if I’d read all the AP books out there (I’d read exactly zero), gone to parenting classes, and watched every How To Care For Your Newborn video available on YouTube, I would never have been ready to be a mother.

There are some things that you can have intellectual knowledge of, but still know nothing about.  Pregnancy, birth, and parenting are very solidly categorized as such, in my opinion.  So, I was the best consumer mom that I could have been, nurturing the child in my womb by valiantly tackling garage sales and Target clearance racks.  I amassed the usual baby paraphernalia, but I was already starting to show my green tendencies.

I shopped online for the best deals (package deals, clearance items, seconds) on cloth diapers and bought 2 dozen fitteds, LOTS of prefolds, covers, and snappis.  Since I’d bought the line that babies were expensive, I figured I’d do cloth and save myself a few bucks . . . along with giving my baby’s bottom a more comfortable ride.

I pre-washed them, stacked them in their assigned bin, and waited for my home water birth (which I’d been paying for out of pocket- $$$=better birth?) to commence and conclude satisfactorily so that I could finally use my round crib with 16 piece bedding and those perfectly fluffed cloth diapers which I’d so lovingly prepared.

My life was epically derailed as I failed to progress through a long labor.  We ended up in the hospital, and my baby’s first experience in life was not on my triumphantly heaving chest covered in afterbirth, but on a neonatal resuscitation platform out of my view.  The next week introduced sugar water into his diet long before his first attempt to nurse.

The pacifiers at the hospital were plugged into his mouth over and over again as the NICU nurses called my room and waited with little patience as I made my way to that wing hobbling around an episiotomy which has forever changed the landscape of my cervix and pelvic floor.

The nurses briefly, and by rote showed us how to bathe our son, how to change disposable diapers, and asked repeatedly about whether or not we would circumcise (NO!).  It took weeks to build up the courage to snap that first cloth diaper on my son, and I’d like to say we never went back . . . but I’d be lying.  We were hooked on disposables, regimented into the use of pacifiers, and scared to do any one thing differently from the Nurse Mandate of Infant Care.

The crib that was never slept in . . .

But my hippie-mom tendencies (which I credit to being an intuitively-led person), fought their way to the surface:  It started with cosleeping.  I found nursing so much easier, and there that gorgeous crib was gathering dust.  I could have used the [WARNING: Thrifty moms avert your eyes!] $600 on something else.  The breast pump and all those bottles I bought — I thought I needed them for some reason, but I read a lot of breastfeeding books during the pregnancy and worked really hard with Bailey to have a successful and exclusive nursing relationship and thus didn’t need or use bottles.  They would have been useful, had I gone back to work.

Then my midwife suggested “E.C.” to me which blasted the disposable vs. cloth debate right out of the water.  At five months, right after introduction of solids (Never doing that again!  Child-led solids for the next kid!) Bailey developed severe food allergies which really made me aware of food content: additives, preservatives, and unrecognizable concoctions.  As a nursing mom, I had to go on an elimination diet to make sure my milk was safe for Bailey.  Cooking at home every day, I’ve come to appreciate local farmer’s markets, organic produce, and quality instead of run-of-the-mill.

I guess those hormones got the better of me, and I snowballed into the land of the hippie.  I stopped buying paper towels and replaced them with cloth.  Instead of chemical cleaning products, I use spray bottles with 50% water and 50% white vinegar (great for E.C. accidents on the carpet).  We only bought disposable diapers a total of 10 times before we quit cold turkey.  We replaced them with plenty of inexpensive padded training pants, which are easier to take off in a hurry anyways.

All wrapped up.

I can use a simple piece of fabric to wrap my baby onto my body, replacing all of the following equipment: strollers, car seat as a carrying device (only the 5-50 lb convertibles from now on), bouncer, excersaucer, walker (which all should be banned anyways), tummy time mats (because wearing in a sling is the kind of stimulation tummy time is artificially replacing), shopping cart covers, child leashes and more.  5 yards of Osnaberg fabric and a little sewing know-how can make something that can replace hundreds of dollars of equipment: a woven wrap.

Something about motherhood awoke in me a fierce desire to live in an ecologically sustainable manner, to be clever with the resources at hand, and to depend on as little as possible.  I’ve still got a lot to learn from moms like the author of Raising Them Green and sites like The Green parent, but buying things used from garage sales or consignment is more fun than buying new.

I’m having a really good time, getting less and less wasteful, and working toward a lifestyle that will teach my child that the world around us is valuable, not disposable . . . and that we are the stewards of the world around us, just as we are the stewards of our own bodies.

So, what about that myth that babies are expensive?  I’ve discovered that they really aren’t.  You’ve probably already got what you need to nurture that baby in exactly the way he or she needs . . . all those extra things are just specialized tools that might be nice in one situation or another.  All a baby needs is a wealth of love, respect, and your personal time.

Only if you live by the creed that “time is money” should you find that babies are expensive.  In that way, our children represent the wealth of our future — and instead of pushing them aside, we should cherish every fleeting moment with them (as I try to remind myself while waiting out another toddler tantrum).

Take a moment and tell me what you do to make your life more green!  Share some tips and tricks because every little bit counts.  *clears throat* . . . and I was also wondering if anyone happens to want a round crib plus bedding?  I’ll trade you for something!  Offers . . . ?

It’s actually quite hard to know where to begin on this topic.  We’ll start with the term.  “Babywearing” refers to carrying a baby on your body with a soft fabric construct of some sort.   I have seen a small protest to the use of the term “babywearing” as an objectification of the infant as a piece of clothing, but in general, when people talk about babywearing, they’re talking about a very special type of close nurturing which doesn’t require the constant occupation of your arms and hands.  In short, babywearing is a lifesaver.

As a non-babywearing culture, we are inundated with images of strollers, bouncers, playpens, and other devices to help us be more effective parents and to keep our little ones neatly contained.  All of these things can be useful each in their own way, but I have never found a tool that could match one soft cloth baby sling.

Bouncers, swings, and rocking cradles were all made to take advantage of the nature of babies to be soothed by rhythmic motion.  Newborns are used to being the beat of their mother’s heart and the bounce of her step lulling them to sleep and keeping them company at every moment as it did in the womb.  Sustenance was never far, being cold was a foreign concept, and mother’s voice resonated from a close source.  Even after birth, the most soothing rhytm to a baby is the exact tempo of an adult walk.

In our culture, we expect our young to get the memo:  As soon as you’re born, to prove you’re a “good baby” you shouldn’t cry, you shouldn’t mind being put down anywhere for any amount of time, conform to eating and sleeping schedules, and generally not make a fuss. The general consensus in our society is that a “good baby” is one who doesn’t demand attention.  I have many objections to this definition of a “good” baby, one being that it sets up tough criteria which creates a lot of stress for parents and caregivers and can harm the bond between mother and baby.

To expect these things from an infant is like rowing a boat upstream against the current, instead of letting the stream guide you along.  If we’re talking about evidence based practices, we would all be breastfed, worn close to the body, and have our needs met immediately.  Biologically speaking, human babies are categorized as “carried young.”

Imagine you’re the mother of an infant.  You’re a pretty normal woman adjusting to the role of motherhood.  Your baby doesn’t want to sleep all the way through the night, so you’ve started using formula right before bed to get her to stay down for (you hope) more than 4 hours at a time.  She has a beautiful crib in her own nursery next to your bedroom.  You love taking her out in her stroller to walk around the park.  A lof of the time, you end up holding her and pushing the stroller with one hand.  She just loves to snuggle and never seems as relaxed as when you’re holding her . . . which makes you worry a lot about spoiling her.  She also wants to nurse a lot, and you worry you’re not making enough milk.

One day something happens: A hurricane, a tsunami, an earthquake, flood, terrorist attack, or simply getting lost and stranded in a snowstorm on a holiday road trip.  This event, whatever it may be, is the test of your lifetime.  It could happen.  It has happened.  For whatever reason, you are left to your own devices.  Cars run out of gas, entire sections of the country have been cut off by flood waters, electricity becomes a fond memory, and keeping yourself and your baby alive become the number one concern.

You can’t push a stroller if the sidewalks are cracked and trembling with aftershocks.  Your first instinct is to grab your baby and hold her tight.  Your instinct is right.  Strollers also won’t make it as you wade through chest-high flood waters contaminated by sewage.  If you need your hands free to climb wreckage, grasp someone else’s hand, or to carry what few possessions you could rescue . . . you could sure use a sling to carry your baby.  In the aftermath of Katrina, there was a massive call for baby slings and carriers for the moms living in shelters or mucking out their homes.

When something happens, you want your child as close to you as possible, and soft fabric carriers are the best solution.  If you’re lucky enough to still be breastfeeding, the scarcity of potable water is no threat to your baby, and the closeness of a sling helps the breastfeeding dyad: the closer the baby is, the more she suckles, and the more milk you make–especially important in stressful situations which would otherwise threaten your supply.  Having your baby high and tight on your front, back, or hip facilitates their safety, your ability to nurture while still going about your every activity . . . even going to the bathroom if you don’t have anyone you trust with your baby, or a clean place to set her down.

I watched an episode of television about people who’d gone through things that would have killed most others.  In this episode, a husband, a wife, and a breastfeeding infant got lost and stranded in the snow.  They had very little food, and their gas ran out, leaving them with no heat.  They forged onward with the guidance of a map, but soon succumbed to thirst, hunger, and hypothermia.  In order to keep their baby with them, they bundled him up and zipped him into a garment bag which they dragged behind them.

If only they had come from a babywearing culture, they might have inserted him into the deepest layer of the mother’s clothing, closing her outer jacket as much as possible over them both, perhaps even tying him tighter with a scarf.  This would have held their baby securely and warmly as the skin on an adult torso actually adjusts specifically to the temperature needs of an infant in close contact.  Instead, as a natural defense mechanism against the cold, the child went into a near coma state, all his blood receding from his extremities to preserve his vital organs.  She was also very lucky she was breastfeeding because her body’s ability to rally and provide food for her infant was amazing, even in extreme crisis, thirst, starvation, and cold.

They all survived, but it was a near thing.  If they’d known some basic survival tips (like ALWAYS keep your feet dry), they could have saved some fingers and toes also.  The baby was dehydrated, recovered well once he got warm, and had VERY bad diaper rash.  (Now if that family had been practicing Natural Infant Hygiene, they could have possibly avoided that rash also . . .)

I’m not telling you this because I want to scare you.  Instead, think of the human body as a beautiful, amazing thing which is built to survive and determined to preserve the lives of our children.  Human infants are supposed to be carried young.  If we look at other mammals, we will see that they either cache or carry their young.  The mammals that cache their young, meaning leave them for longer stretches of time, have a very high fat content to their milk, designed to sustain their infants for the duration of their absence.  Human milk has a lower fat content, and our infants are specifically built to digest it quickly and nurse frequently, thus being in constant or near-constant contact with their mother.

So, you’ve been hit by some natural disaster and lost your home.  You arrive at the nearest shelter on foot, your arms past the point of aching.  A haggard crowd forms around you, all of you headed toward the nearest safe point.  A woman with a baby tied on her back with a colorful cloth carrier (like a backpack with long straps) taps you on the shoulder, and you nearly stumble from the shock of contact.  She has something for you.  She takes the length of fabric with two rings on the end and shows you how to thread it and hold your baby upright in a tummy to tummy position.

She gently asks you if you breastfeed or if you need formula and bottles for the baby soon.  You say you’re nursing.  She shows you how to latch the baby and nurse in the sling, leaving your hands free.  She takes care to spread the fabric over your shoulder and evenly on your back, her hands smoothing down your aching muscles, her tone confident and calm.  For the first time in hours, you let your arms lower, the muscles screaming in relief and protest.  Your baby quietly falls asleep within minutes and stays quiet as you check in with Red Cross.

The woman with a baby on her back moves through the crowd, finding mothers with babies, handing out various soft cloth carriers, some with four ties coming off a rectangle, some just pieces of cloth, long and short, until her backpack sags empty.  You realize she didn’t bring anything else, and you packed some non-perishables in your diaper bag.  She smiles really big, bouncing her babe on her lap, as you approach and offer your food, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like things will be alright.

In the weeks that follow, you use the sling almost every moment of every day.  You find that your baby nurses a lot, and sometimes you look down to realize you latched her on.  You stop worrying so much about spoiling her because she just seems so happy, especially compared to the babies in the shelter who aren’t worn in a sling.  Those babies cry all the time, and you’re the one who gets compliments on your baby being “so good” . . . Your milk supply must be doing more than enough because she gets so full she falls asleep.  You offered her a bottle once (someone had donated formula and bottles to the shelter), but she didn’t show very much interest.

When getting food, or new sheets, or using the bathroom, you don’t need to set her down or hand her off.  She sleeps peacefully through most of your activities, and you’re able to line up and fill out paperwork for assistance and recovery without juggling the baby.

So, let’s go back to our earlier definition of a good baby and explore that a little further.  In America the following points are considered good traits in infants:

• doesn’t cry
• doesn’t cry or fuss if put down
• falls asleep alone
• sleeps through the night
• eats on a convenient schedule
• doesn’t demand close contact

Let us suppose that you have a child who fits the definition of a “good” baby per the above criteria, and he has a cousin who does NOT fit into any of the above criteria.  Let’s call them Charles (“good” baby) and Chandler (not “good” baby).  Since you’re probably all tired of the catastrophic scenarios, let’s go back in time with Charles and Chandler.  Let’s go back to the American pioneer days when it was more likely to hear wolves howling than the sound of your neighbor’s voice.

There was no formula, there were no plastics, no car seats, no electricity, and definitely no strollers.  Both Charles and Chandler have mothers who were taught how to hold their babies on their bodies with large square shawls, just like all the women in their family did all the way back to the Welsh farmstead.  They birthed alone, or with the help of their oldest daughters.  They worked as hard, or harder than the men.

These two sisters lived in close proximity, only a day’s full travel away from one another.  They gave birth to their boys within weeks.  Charles seems like a very affable lad.  He doesn’t demand to suckle.  He makes no fuss to be put down.  Charles has many older siblings who share the tasks around the home.  Since he makes no fuss to be separated from his mother, she hands him to an older sister in order to do housework.  Several hours pass, and his mother notices she’s engorged with milk.

She calls for the baby and scolds the older daughter for not calling if Charles was hungry.  Charles nurses a bit, and doesn’t seem interested.  His mother takes a good look at him and tries to latch him again.  He turns his cheek.  She puts the shawl around her shoulder, longer on the left, wraps it around him and tucks it so he’s held snugly to her chest.  She tries to offer the breast often, but he arches and makes a fuss if forced, so she stops pushing.

As mindful as she is of her baby, she has a large work load, and Charles is often handed off to the older girls.  The weeks go by, and Charles doesn’t seem to be plumping up like her other babies did.  He doesn’t scream or fuss.  One day, the older girls set him on a blanket in the sun, sit around him and braid flowers into crowns.  One of their siblings cries out in surprise nearby.  He found something strange, come look!  The older girls get up and tell the youngest little girl to stay with the baby, and they all run off.  The little girl edges further and further away from the blanket, eyes intent on whatever is obscured by the crowd of older siblings.

The “good” baby doesn’t seem to mind being left alone, the sun beats down on his vulnerable body.  At this point, nature sees an opportunity to further the cycle of the food chain.  It could be a sneaky coyote, a rattler scared by the baby’s kick, or simple heatstroke.  Charles is the perfect candidate for reunion with the earth.  He hasn’t suckled much or for very long, diminishing his mother’s milk supply.  He is failing to thrive, not gaining proper amounts of weight.

If he had at least the inclination to cry if left alone, the littlest girl could go back to him and see the danger.  She could pick him up or call for help.

Let us turn our attention to Chandler who lives a full day’s travel to the west.  His mother also has older siblings, and likewise works hard.  She carries him in his shawl constantly because he screams his head off if he’s put down.  This close proximity makes breastfeeding easy, including comfort suckling which increases his mother’s milk supply and helps keep her period at bay.  This is the best kind of birth control women have available other than abstinence.

Chandler sleeps with his mother, nursing quietly and peacefully several times at night.  Both mother and baby sleep very well, the nursing sessions blending into the night.  Throughout the day, Chandler is wrapped in his shawl on his mother’s front, or her back, depending on the kind of work she needs to do.  The motion of her walk, her voice, the rhythm of her arms she works, all these things sooth Chandler.  He will tolerate playing with an older sibling for a short amount of time, but will start looking for his mother after a little while.  If he is alone, he cries until someone picks him up and comforts him.  He doesn’t like being on the ground alone; That seems dangerous to him.

Chandler loves to be held by his mother, to have easy access to nursing, and to feel her tickle him or stroke his back as he falls asleep while she moves around.  He sometimes goes through growth spurts which make him hungry every hour, and his mother sometimes ties the shawl so she can nurse him and work with her hands at the same time, perhaps cooking or sewing.  He cries and fusses often, but nursing usually makes it better . . . so the family hears one or two frustrated cries before he’s put to the breast.

This way, Chandler can tell his mother if he’s cold, hot, hungry, tired, dirty, or uncomfortable in any way.  Without hardly thinking about it, his seasoned mother pats him, nurses him,  cleans him up, rubs his belly or back to help with gas, and he is kept happy and healthy.  He soon grows plump and never gets sick.

So, what do Charles and Chandler have to do with you?  You’ve got electricity.  You can choose not to breastfeed.  You can use strollers, cribs, bouncers, pacifiers, and anything you want do.  I fully support you in your choices as a parent.  You’re the one in charge.  You are the person who determines the type of life you want to live based on your values.  I don’t doubt for a moment that you love your child . . . because I am a mother, and I know that kind of love.  It’s wonderful.

I wanted to take the time to share how my love is expressed for my child.  I love my baby every day by living as naturally as possible, practicing the kind of parenting that allows my child to thrive best in tune with his evolutionary programming, and maintaining certain practices which could preserve his life in the event of a catastrophe.  My parenting is sustainable, green, streamlined, and easy in many ways.

Given a situation in which I did not have access to disposable diapers, or washers to clean cloth diapers, we would still do just fine with Natural Infant Hygiene (EC).  If you take away electricity and clean water from a tap, I could still breastfeed my son . . . even if I had to take in contaminated water and suffer through the diarrhea, my breast milk would still be the perfect food for my baby.  As long as I can find a piece of cloth (tablecloth, bedsheets, etc.), I can nurture my baby hands free and on the go.

“Babywearing” is a lot of things to a lot of people.  It is a closeness and a bond which helps breastfeeding, a convenience for a mother or caretaker, a safe space for a baby, and in many women’s lives all over the world, it’s just how things are done.  Babywearing is a useful skill to have, everyday or in an emergency, and it will not “spoil” your child simply because your baby is built to be carried and will thrive best held close to you.

Sometimes it’s as simple as the fact that I slipped and fell twice on the ice this winter.  Both times my son was on my back and didn’t touch the ground.  If he’d been in my arms, I could have dropped him as my reflex to catch myself flung my arms out.  I could have fallen onto him.  He could have been hurt badly, but riding safely on my back, he was merely jolted and surprised.

Finally, a last note on the benefits of babywearing (reproduced with author’s permission), in response to the question “Do you remember the moment you fell in love with babywearing?”:

Do you remember THE moment?

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For me it was when the girls came home from the NICU (at 4lbs each) and for the first time I realized I had to keep them happy and our 16 month old entertained. What a huge job! I had bought a Moby, but hadn’t done much with it so I took it out and popped both girls into it. All of a sudden I could keep them happy (and close to me) and make lunch for Colin, color, entertain – all the things I couldn’t do otherwise!

But I have to say that the moment that I will always remember was when I realized that wrapping saved Teagan’s life (and no, I’m not being melodramatic.) She was 3 months old and had been home from the hospital for a month with her sister. That night I had been feeding her and she didn’t seem hungry, but was very fussy. So I wrapped her (something that had always calmed her before.) Still she was crying. Then I heard it – a slight wheezing when she took a breath. I didn’t think too much of it and went downstairs with her still wrapped.DH came in from mowing the lawn and I told him about the fussiness and wheezing and we called the NICU to talk to our favorite nurse and ask for advice.

She heard Teagan wheeze (I put the phone up to Teagan’s face) and told us to bring her in immediately. We brought her to the ER where she was diagnosed with Group B Step Bacterial Meningitis. (It was a form of group B that she had picked up somewhere other than birth since if it had been birth related it would have shown up much sooner.) This particular form of Meningitis is very deadly and very fast. By the time we got her to the hospital they told us if we had waited another half an hour she would have had major brain damage – another hour and she would have been dead. We spent 3 weeks in the hospital with her (DH and I rotated time at the hossy 24-7 for those 3 weeks.) I was nursing Meg and pumping for Teagan or vice versa, so it was challenging to say the least.

Now, I can honestly say that I wouldn’t have thought much of the fussiness if it hadn’t been for wrapping. Since I knew she was comforted by that and when she continued being fussy even wrapped, that was the first clue something was wrong. The symptoms for Meningitis are very vague in babies – refusing to eat and fussiness. So wrapping definitely did save her life. Today she’s completely healthy (they had warned about all sorts of wonderful complications that could arise from bacterial meningitis – not the least of which was brain damage, joint damage and hearing loss).

So that’s what I think of when I look at my stash. How wonderful it is to be able to hold your baby so close and really get to know them. It was another few months before I found the wonderful world of woven wraps, but my Moby did the job just fine.

Oh – and Teagan is now the one who gets SO excited when a new wrap arrives! She always runs over to the box and says “a new wrap – for ME??!!” Meg doesn’t let me wrap her much anymore, but Teagan still loves it.

If you’re interested in legalizing midwifery and promoting natural childbirth in the U.S. please write to our new President Barack Obama.  He’s taking suggestions on how to improve our country HERE.

Here’s what I wrote under the “Economy” & “Healthcare” sections:

The most common reason for hospitalization is childbirth.  Birth is a billion dollar business, but one important thing is overlooked: Birth is natural.

We rank 29th in infant and maternal mortality in comparison to other countries.  The money we spend on Obstetrics, C-sections, infant monitoring devices, needless tests, invasive procedures, medical supplies, doctors, nurses, what we ask our insurance to pay out, or our medicaid to pay out . . . all of this could be simply and effectively reduced while AT THE SAME TIME reducing infant and maternal mortality, increasing maternal satisfaction, reducing instances of iatrogenic complications such as high C-section rates, episiotomies, and greatly reducing Post Traumatic Stress conditions arising from high intervention and lack of compassionate treatment in the hospital setting.

Midwives, doulas, and labor assistants trained in TRUE physiological birth (during which the laboring woman is allowed free movement, allowed to progress normally, is supported in an upright position to facilitate birth, and is allowed to push normally and when the need arises) are much less expensive than the upkeep of a single Obstetrician.

A trained and certified midwife is able to tell the difference between a normal, safe pregnancy and one that might have risks.  Midwives would ideally provide care for the majority of pregnancies.  Use of midwives would increase maternal satisfaction due to time spent and quality of care at prenatal visits, increase the number of women able to cope well with labor, decrease use of analgesics which would prevent the cascade of interventions that might not have been otherwise needed.

Studies prove that midwife care at home is as safe as hospital births in regards to fatality, and even safer in regards to needless interventions (C-sections, episiotomies, antibacterial courses due to infections originating at the hospital) . . . just look at the statistics at The Farm under the supervision of Ina May Gaskin.

One way that we can immediately improve our country, improve the quality of life of every emerging citizen (our babies), and save enormous amounts of money . . . is to train midwives in large numbers and to train doctors to work WITH midwives.  Use Sweden’s great practices and wonderfully low infant and maternal fatality rates as inspiration.  Invite Ina May Gaskin to take part in this task force to revamp the American birth system.

Legalize midwifery in all states.  Use our tax dollars in the scientifically and historically supported practice of midwifery.  Thank you for taking the time to read this, and please don’t hesitate to look further into the studies I’ve alluded to.

Leslie Hing Hing Kung,
an American woman of childbearing years, birth advocate, and mother.

Tablerunner/Placemat Onbuhimo

By Leslie Hing Hing Kung

(Cedar Rapids, Iowa, United States of America)

An Onbuhimo is a Japanese style carrier very similar to a Mei Tai, but instead of waist straps, an Onbu has two rings.

I’m going to show you how to make an Onbuhimo from one placemat, one tablerunner, an accent fabric, and two sling rings.

To begin, you’ll need:
-sewing machine
-scissors
-placemat of suitable fabric
-coordinating tablerunner
-two sling rings
-at least 1/2 yard of accent fabric

Nice to have, but not necessary:
-rotary cutter
-serger
-bias tape
-upholstery weight thread

I found great coordinating sage green tablerunners and placemats at Target (soft, multi-layered, and easily washable).

I took one tablerunner and cut it down the middle lengthwise, creating two long strips 70 inches long. Lacking a serger (which would have made this task easier), I zig-zag stitched along the cut edges multiple times to prevent fraying. (I could have also hemmed or used bias tape / blanket binding to finish the edges in a neater manner.)

I used white thread, found a remnant of material also in white, and got two sturdy rings. The ones shown are clear acrylic, but I HIGHLY recommend slingrings.com for all your carrier rings.

I sewed the straps to the top of the place mat at an angle that seemed right. Normal (sane) people would have actually measured the angle/distance between, etc. They might have also pinned. I just eyeballed it, pinched it into place and sewed both into place using the bartack stitch (small zigzag). Check out the symmetry!

I followed the pattern of the fabric itself to sew the initial triangle, then I free-handed some loopy designs to fully secure the straps. I was in a rebellion-against-box-stitches mood.

To top it off, I sewed a leaf at the top corner of each side. This was all using my Janome Hello Kitty sewing machine, which is surprisingly a real workhorse.

I then took the accent fabric and doubled it over, sewed around 3 sides, and flipped it inside out. I stitched around the edges of that for a clean look. The rectangle shape I made was way longer than the width of the body of the Onbu (aka the placemat).

I eyeballed some pleats (to make more of a seat for the baby), stitched them into place at the bottom of the placemat. Then I overlapped the body of the Onbu until the bottom edge was at the half-way point vertically on the rectangle of cloth. I bartacked it into place with a trapezoid shaped filled with freehanded loopy shapes.

Then I took the bottom edge of the rectangle of fabric and folded it over onto the inside edge of the Onbu body, sandwiching the placemat in the white material. I sewed that firmly into place, stitching around the perimeter of the doubled rectangle, creating a narrower band of fabric which protruded out from either side of the bottom of the Onbu about 6 inches.

(An aside: You can actually put the rings of an Onbu on straps that protrude pretty far from the body. So, if you want, you can go longer than 6 inches. Remember to leave some room for the next step:)

Threaded through the rings on either side, I folded the fabric back over and bartacked the flaps into place. (I made sure the fold was toward the back of the Onbu body, so the raised ridges of fabric wouldn’t dig into the user’s waist.)

That’s my Onbuhimo! I hope I gave you some good ideas, and remember to choose your materials with care. Do not use single layer placemats or tablerunners that you can tear easily. Using upholstery weight thread can go a long way, just make sure you have a needle that can handle it, and keep in mind that the bartack stitch is one of the most secure out there.

Check out my matching bag! Here is the matching diaper bag tutorial where I used the same white fabric and one placemat to make a matching diaper/carry bag for my Table Textile Onbu.

Sew a Diaper Bag from A Placemat

© Leslie Hing Hing Kung; all rights reserved
Sew a diaper bag out of a placemat and some accent fabric! The bag shown was made with a sturdy placemat from Target and offers up a totally unique look as well as being affordable.

Supplies you’ll need:

• 1 placemat
• a yard (or less) of an accent fabric
• scissors
• sewing machine

It is a relatively simple process to sew a diaper bag out of a placemat. First, take your accent fabric and cut a long strip. You can decide the width, based on how deep you would like your bag to be (since you’re NOT just folding the placemat in half and sewing it into a flat envelope). The wider your strap, the wider the sides of the bag will be . . . which also effects the eventual height of the bag.

(Ha, I said this was simple, didn’t I?) Before sewing, fold the strip in half (because I’m going to tell you to sew the perimeter and flip it inside out for a clean look) and do a test-fit.

Make this strip as long as you want the strap of the bag to be, then add roughly a foot to this measurement (to allow for the bits of the strap that will make up the sides of the bag). The placemat will form the back, bottom, and front of the bag when it’s completed.

Now that you’ve figured out the width and length of the strap, fold it in half the long way (wrong side out) and stitch around the perimeter, leaving an open area to flip it right-side out. Top stitch the perimeter for security and looks.

Take your placemat and fold it so that it looks like a ‘U’ shape from the side, with the bottom of the ‘U’ as wide as your newly finished strap. Fit and pin the strap ends to the three edges on either side of the placemat. Make sure your placemat’s wrong side is out. (As with my placemat onbu baby carrier, I skipped the pinning part, just pinched and bartacked.) Once you’re done stitching, flip your bag right-side out.

Now for the flap. Take your accent fabric and cut a long rectangle a little wider than the body of the bag (seam allowance) and three times as long as the height of the bag (or three times the measurement of the height of the ‘U’). Fold this in half, making it half as long. Then fold that in half, making it half as wide.

Now cut the corner off at an angle, so that when you unfold it once, the (two layered) rectangle resembles a simple drawing of a house (box with a triangle on top), except that the tip of the roof is cut off flat. Make sure that this flat area is wider than your hand, otherwise you won’t be able to stick your hand into the pocket after it’s sewn.

You can actually just do a plain flap (rectangle minus the trapezoid at the top), but I wanted to have an envelope-style pocket on the front of the flap.

So, sew around the perimeter of the flap, flip right-side out, and finish by stitching around the perimeter again. Take the trapezoid bit and fold it back towards the body of the flap. Sew the trapezoid down on both sides, creating a pocket which widens at the bottom. Test fit this whole flap against the body of the bag, then sew the back edge of the flap to the back edge of the bag.

Where ever the bag might come under stress (i.e. the junction of the straps and body, the tops of the envelope pocket, etc.) be sure to stitch securely. I used the trusty bartack stitch to enforce the connections.

Note: My accent fabric was not very thick, hence my double or quadrupling in both tutorials; If you use something stronger when you sew a diaper bag, finish the edges some other way, cutting out a lot of unnecessary steps.

Another tip:If you wanted a matching changing pad, use another one of the placemats, find a coordinating vinyl tablecloth to cut up, and sew them together, creating a pad with a waterproof vinyl surface.

I hope this gave you some more ideas and got you excited about your table textiles. Good luck, have fun learning to sew a diaper bag out of a placemat!