I love the cloth diapers on the drying rack. I hope the mother had an electric washer with a wringer on it, to wash the diapers. My grandmother had to live with her in-laws when my mother was born. Her mother-in-law had a wringer washer, but wouldn't let Grandma use it, so she had to take the diapers down to the "crick" and wash them by hand.

When I was young, I took care of a little old lady who was born in 1883, and had twelve children. One day, I commented that she must have spent many, many hours washing diapers by hand. She got a smile on her face and said, "But it was an easy washing. Besides, the hardest thing was getting the money to buy the cloth to make the diapers." I thought of that often, years later, as I washed the store bought, pre-fold diapers for my babies, with an electric washer and dryer, and never felt like it was a burden.

RE: "Hold still, kid"

That's what paregoric was for!

Look how convenient the electrical receptacle is, no bending over. And one less hazard for a crawling baby.

It has been said we enter the world toothless, bald and crawling around in diapers and we pretty much leave the same way. Except for the scale, this is similar to single rooms in a nursing home. Sorry to be a wet blanket, I usually look at the sunny side of life, but this is a serene and sunny room and would be a happy place for a new baby. So maybe we all go back to our happy place, huh?

The sleek five-drawer dresser would look good in a modern home. The flimsy scale on top of it, though, is a disaster waiting to happen. One good wiggle and the baby would slip right off.

So clean and tidy. Love the oval white enamel baby tub, although the rickety canvas-top stand wouldn't pass OSHA standards today! Quaint wicker baby scale on top of little chest. And it looks like Mother has washed out some gowns and receiving blankets, drying on the clothes rack. Room itself is so placid and restful; undoubtedly the Baby was loved & wanted.

I count 6 or 8 strangulation hazards for toddlers. Babyhood was more dangerous in those days.

this bare white interior reminds me of the old poem:

Strictly Germ-proof

THE Antiseptic Baby and the Prophylactic Pup
Were playing in the garden when the Bunny gamboled up;
They looked upon the Creature with a loathing undisguised;—
It wasn't Disinfected and it wasn't Sterilized.

They said it was a Microbe and a Hotbed of Disease;
They steamed it in a vapor of a thousand-odd degrees;
They froze it in a freezer that was cold as Banished Hope
And washed it in permanganate with carbolated soap.

In sulphurated hydrogen they steeped its wiggly ears;
They trimmed its frisky whiskers with a pair of hard-boiled shears;
They donned their rubber mittens and they took it by the hand
And elected it a member of the Fumigated Band.

There's not a Micrococcus in the garden where they play;
They bathe in pure iodoform a dozen times a day;
And each imbibes his rations from a Hygienic Cup--
The Bunny and the Baby and the Prophylactic Pup.

I can smell the baby powder.