TMBTC: So Apparently Colorado Baby Is All Grown Up
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Issue 8 • February 10th, 2026 Hahahahaha. Oh man. I’m sitting here peeking through some recent newsletters, cracking up at myself. How pathetic. And I keep saying out loud, “Man, I have SO much fun writing these.” And I know I’ve already said that before in a newsletter. But seriously — that’s how much I enjoy it. Ask Sharon in the store if I ever shut up about it. I don’t. Poor thing — subjected to my antics all the time. Can you imagine?? And yet she’s stuck around for six years now. Everyone clap for Sharon. That’s IMPRESSIVE. I mean, my husband has been hitched to me by all legal standards for 20 years (!!!!!!), but…he said vows. And had children with me. But Sharon? She just, you know, filled out an I-9 form and — well — here she is. The rest is history. Bless. Her. *waves* Hi Sharon! (She reads these too. I mean…hahaha. Oh man. She’s ALL IN.) So...anywayz... GUESS WHAT, GUYSSSSS. Booooohooooo hooooo hoooooooooo. Colorado Baby Is an AH-DALT*As in - adult. As in…the store crossed the 18-year mark on January 30th. Just like that. Boom. Fly, baby, fly! But we’ve gotta back up. You need this story. Because there’s a lot going on here. *Why did some teachers say “AH-DALT” (instead of “uh-dult”) when I was in middle school? Why?? Weirdos. Did they do it just to make our skin crawl? Sorry if you’re one of them, but…for real—what was that about? So. Story time. Did I ever tell you about my first business? Oh wait—yes. I remember mentioning it in a recent-ish newsletter, because I spent a solid 30 minutes trying to find a picture on my camera roll that I never did find. A picture of a rock. Colored on with crayon. Actually…hold please. I’m going to look again. (I know you don’t actually experience the pause that’s about to happen, because you’re just reading this straight through. But I am timing my pause—padding my time clock with how long these newsletters take to put together.) DRAMATIC PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUSE. <<23 MINUTES LATER>> I FOUND IT!!!!!!!! HAHAHAHA. Worth it. You better enjoy this picture. Drum roll… I present to you: my first business, age four. I know, I know. You’re wondering what ancient relic you’re looking at. At age four, I found rocks, colored on them with crayons, and sold them as paperweights to my neighbors and parents. My dad still had his rock—er, um, paperweight—at the time of this picture, which was taken in 2017. When I couldn’t find this photo a few months ago, I asked him if I could take an updated one. He had no idea what I was talking about. 😂 Did not remember this rock that sat in his office for 30+ years. And definitely didn’t know where it went. *le sigh* Here it is, with 30 years of dust: Just kidding. That’s probably like 30 days of dust. Apparently I've Always Been Like ThisSo all of that nonsense was to tell you this: I’ve basically been in sales since my first memories. Every year—honestly, every month—it was something different. Let me rattle off the ones I can remember:
One time, I set up a “carnival” in my front yard. I had the neighbor kids run the different booths while the parents paid to go booth to booth. I also started a club in middle school with my two closest girlfriends called the “Stuffed Givers.” We collected donations of stuffed animals. I vividly remember Mike from Toys for the Fun of It—if you’re a longtime local, you know this was the toy store of the day—donating a bunch of Ty Beanie Babies to us. This was the HEIGHT of the Beanie Baby craze. We then delivered the stuffed animals to sick kids at the hospital, courtesy of the Stuffed Givers. Goodness. 😂 The things I roped people into. And honestly? I’m still doing the same thing. What a riot. All you suckers reading this newsletter are just feeding into my childhood antics. Thanks. My childhood heart is EXPLODING. So…are we surprised I’m running Colorado Baby? I mean, it kind of fits the bill. What is surprising is that I’ve stuck with it for EIGHTEEN YEARS. That’s the impressive part. That I didn’t try 30 other things in the last 18 years. And now hang with me as I have a quick sidebar chat with you (then we’ll get back to the story): Colorado Baby didn’t grow just because of me. It grew because of the people who’ve stepped into it along the way; customers, mentors, family, and eventually…a team. I’m excited to share that we’re currently hiring for another Retail Apprentice. Like…now-now. Applications are open, and we’re ideally looking for someone who could start sometime between mid-March and early April. Ok — quick logistics, then I’ll get you back to the story. A Retail Apprentice at Colorado Baby is someone who enjoys working with people and sharing what they know. A big part of the role is talking with customers — listening to what they’re looking for and helping them understand which products might be a good fit for their family. This is hands-on, people-facing work that includes time on the sales floor, learning our products, gift wrapping, restocking, pulling online orders, and being part of the everyday rhythm of the store. Training is provided (duh, of course). This role is especially well-suited for someone who genuinely enjoys explaining things. If you get excited about why a product exists, how it works, or what makes it different, you’ll feel right at home here. Education is a huge part of what we do — our customers come to us because we know our stuff and we want to share it. The position is very part-time, with flexible scheduling. We typically work in four-hour shift blocks and are looking for someone who can work two to three shifts per week (about 8–12 hours). Employees receive a staff discount, access to our classes after a training period, and opportunities to grow skills over time. We’re a small team — currently eight of us — and how we show up for each other really matters. We value reliability, a willingness to grow and learn, and genuine care for the families and community we serve. This work is about becoming better at what we do, supporting one another, and creating a place where people feel seen, helped, and welcome. If this sounds like something you might be interested in, you can click here to read more about the role and submit an application. If you know someone that would be a good fit, please forward this email, or that link, to them. All applications will be reviewed, and qualified candidates will be contacted for next steps.
You know what makes me feel all fuzzy inside? The last time we hired — about a year ago — all four people we brought onto the team found the position through our newsletter announcement just like this one. Truly. Major props to our newsletter readers. Y'all somehow manage to be the best customers and the best people to work alongside. Back to the story…So yeah—way back when I was 21 years old, two very young kids in tow, I noticed a gap in the market. (Har har, sounds like fancy business speak. Really, I just saw an opportunity to sell something. As usual.) That something was modern cloth diapers. I was using these fancy, newfangled things on my two little ones—almost two years old and three months old—and thought, “Huh. Why doesn’t anyone sell these locally?” The best option was ordering them online. And in 2007, ordering online was…clunky at best. It really wasn’t much of a thing. I ordered diapers for my boys off eBay. Like—what?? Seeing how wide open the market was (haha, right…), I thought, “I’ve gotta figure out how to start a REAL business.” Because now that I wasn’t a child anymore, I knew Uncle Sam was going to want his cut. I Turned It Into a Real BusinessI had about $250 left over from our wedding gifts. I used it to buy a plastic tote and connect with a work-at-home mom in California who was sewing and selling her own modern cloth diaper brand. She agreed to sell to me at wholesale prices so I could start building inventory. I took a very simple class at the small business incubator where I learned the basic differences between a sole proprietor, LLC, partnership, and corporation. From that one class, I decided an LLC was the best route. Somehow—Lord, bless—I figured out how to get an EIN (tax ID number), a resale sales tax license, and file an LLC through the Colorado Secretary of State. I pulled a couple hundred dollars more from our wedding gift money to cover the fees, and with that… Voilà. I had started a REAL, registered business on January 30th, 2008. I promptly set up a website. Lord, bless—again. E-commerce in 2008 was SO basic. I spent $25 on a template and got the site rolling. Ahahahah. You can’t even go out to eat with a friend for $25 these days. Wild. And this wasn’t 50 years ago. Just 18. 😉 And with that…I was off to the races. I hung out on message boards for moms (this was pre–social media days), talking about modern cloth diapers and then casually linking to my website. On the local front, I was posting on Craigslist—this was before Craigslist became scary—that I was a local, modern cloth diaper retailer. Contact me if you wanted to learn about them. Craigslist used to be useful. It wasn’t scammy. This is how far back in time we’re going. I know. You probably can’t even remember those days, but they did exist—and it’s how I built my business. Locals would reach out to me. I’d meet them at their house, or they’d come to mine, and I’d pull out the Rubbermaid tote of diapers. I’d teach them how the diapers worked, the advantages of them—less expensive than disposables, better for baby’s skin, and better for the environment (all still true statements in 2026)—and then I’d hope and pray they wanted to buy them. Nearly every time, they did. They’d buy what I had on hand, or I’d order more for them if I didn’t have enough. I’d take the money from the sale, replenish my stock, and fold the “profit” (which was measly) right back into the business to increase inventory. For some fun figures for the business geeks here: I was buying diapers for about $10–$12 apiece, and retailing them for around $17. Y’all—that is a very slim markup to try and build a business on. If I reinvested all the money back into inventory, I had to sell two diapers just to gain one additional diaper in stock (and that’s assuming I had zero expenses, which is obviously not reality). So if I sold 24 diapers (a full set), I could increase my inventory from 24 diapers to roughly 36 diapers. I sold maybe 24 diapers once a month (twice on a good month). That is slow growth. But I was committed to doing it without debt. I wanted to cash-flow the business. My husband and I are pretty debt-averse. The only debt we’ve ever had as a married couple (or honestly, ever, as people) is our house—which we didn’t even buy until 2022…from my parents. 😂 After painstakingly growing the business diaper by diaper, I started getting the itch to get it out of my house and into its own space. By then, I had three very small boys. I was having people come to my house once or twice a week to learn about diapers, and I felt constant pressure to keep the house presentable—which is no small feat with three little kids in residence. At the time, my husband worked at a local bank as a teller, making just barely over minimum wage (around $9 an hour). We were adamant about providing for ourselves, so we refused to sign up for government assistance programs. We did live in Section 8 housing—an apartment—but we were placed at the high end of the income limit purely because I was self-employed. You see...every dollar that came in was considered income, even though it all went straight back into inventory. And well, you can’t eat inventory. But the government counts it as taxable income, since you could technically turn it into cash…and then eat with that cash. I remember every year when we’d do our taxes, our accountant would look at everything and say, “So…what do you guys actually live on? There’s literally no money here.” Yeah. No kidding. I was asking myself the same question every week. I was always weirdly excited to do taxes, just for the shock factor of how poor we actually were. In the late summer of 2009, with a three-and-a-half-year-old, an almost two-year-old, and a three-month-old, I made a pitch to my grandparents. They lived in Illinois but had come to Colorado to visit. I created a slideshow presentation on my little MacBook—the same one I was running my entire business on—and pitched them on the idea of investing in us. I wanted to expand into a real brick-and-mortar storefront. But to do that, I needed serious capital. I estimated I’d need to increase inventory by about $40,000 (I probably had $1,000–$2,000 in inventory at that point, lolz). I also needed money for rent, displays, and startup costs. I figured a conservative ask was around $50,000. I could always scale back inventory if I needed to. My husband and I met with my grandparents at Main Street Bagels and gave them the pitch. This was before Shark Tank days. I didn’t even know pitching to investors was an actual thing. I just figured I needed money, my grandparents might have some, and I could ask them. I promised we’d pay them back on whatever terms we agreed on, interest included. After the pitch—and the big ask—my grandparents said they’d talk it over and get back to us. The next day, they did. They had decided they would invest in us. Heart pounding. I was so excited inside. I was like…dude. I’m about to become a MILLIONAIRE. Oh, the things I’m going to do with all this casshhhhhhhh. I’m going to BUILD AN EMPIRE!!!! “We’d like to invest in you guys. We’ll invest $5,000 with 5% interest per year, with the full amount to be paid back by the end of year three.” Me: Don’t get me wrong—I was grateful. Truly. But internally I was like…what am I going to do with $5,000?? I can barely buy a smattering of inventory with that. I mean honestly, now—at the wise old age of 39—I can’t say I would’ve handed $50,000 to a 23-year-old either. 😂 So we pitched some close family friends using the same slideshow. They got back to us and said they’d love to help, but they couldn’t do it financially. Instead, they offered to help with setup, decorating wherever I decided to put the store, and grunt labor like that. Again—totally appreciated. Genuinely. But man…I felt stuck. And I felt my dream starting to slip. I remember telling one of my aunts that my biggest fear was this: I had worked hard for two years laying the groundwork of education around modern cloth diapers in town, and someone else with more money was going to swoop in, open the store I was envisioning, and capitalize on all that work—without any return for me at that point. Nevertheless, my husband and I accepted the $5,000 loan from my grandparents. We found a location on 2nd Street and Grand Avenue (now Jack Radio—before we moved in, it had been a State Farm Insurance building for years). We signed a two-year lease. Guess how much that first payment was? Yep. Just shy of $5,000. I think it was around $4,700. That covered first month, last month, and a security deposit. We were handed the keys. And we moved in…with basically nothing. The Years That Nearly Broke UsI could very easily turn this email into 10,000+ words telling you about how brutally hard the next two years were. We were the poorest we have ever been. Nearly every day, I’d consider walking a few blocks to the soup kitchen to get my kids—and myself—a hot meal. But I just couldn’t do it. I was way too prideful. Somehow, by God’s grace, we made it through every single day. There were days I prayed someone would come in and buy something with cash, so I could walk a block over to City Market (Kroger) and grab food to make lunch for my kids. So many incredible stories of provision from that season. Eventually, my pride did break. I signed up for WIC—a supplemental nutrition program for women, infants, and children. I hated it. I felt absolutely humiliated every time I pulled out those paper “checks” at the grocery store. There was nothing discreet about it. Everyone could see. I remember how the fresh produce worked—you had to make sure the weight didn’t go over the allotted amount, or the check wouldn’t process. One time, a clerk rang up the wrong kind of peppers, which pushed the cost just barely over the limit. I kept trying to explain it to her, but she couldn’t get it right. The whole thing unraveled over fifty cents. I felt like I was dying a million deaths of embarrassment. After that day, I was done. I never renewed my WIC benefits. Using those checks cost me more emotional weight than they were worth to me. The People Who Took a ChanceAs our two-year lease at that first location came to a close, I knew we had to find something else. I really, really wanted the store downtown on Main Street. That’s where I had envisioned it from the beginning—I just couldn’t make it work initially. After a lot of back-and-forth about what we wanted the space to be (we even considered an old downtown home where we’d live in half and put the store in the other), we found a completely gutted corner space on Main Street. We took a look at it and set up a meeting with the landlords. We were told to bring a credit report so they could see we were in good standing. Yikes. We didn’t have one. We didn’t own credit cards. We paid for everything in cash. The only debt we had was the small personal loan from my grandparents, which we were on track to pay off within a year. So instead, I brought a list of personal references—including our landlord—who could vouch for the fact that we were good for our word and paid what we committed to. The day we met with the landlords, I had all three of my little boys with me—because that was my reality. I was a mom with little kids running a business. I was also quite pregnant with number four. My husband and I sat down with Pat and Ruth Gormley. They were older, like my grandparents—maybe a little older—and I felt immediately comfortable talking with them. We shared our vision for the space: moving my growing diaper business there, along with my husband’s young Spanish language business. At one point, Pat asked for our credit report. I took a deep breath and said, “Actually…we don’t have one. We’ve always done everything with cash. We don’t even own credit cards.” He looked at me with a sly smile and said, “Well, that’s not necessarily a bad thing.” Then he nudged Ruth and said, “Tell John to get them the keys. Get them the keys. Let’s move them in.” Just like that—on a handshake—we had a deal. My grandparents took a risk. Then Pat and Ruth took a risk. I was just 23 when my grandparents invested $5,000 into the concept of Colorado Baby. And I was 25 when Pat and Ruth took a wild chance on us with their real estate on Main Street. We moved into this spot—one you’re probably very familiar with now—almost 14 years ago, on April 1st. You may notice that inside the store there’s a classroom that also doubles as my office. That classroom is where my husband still teaches Spanish, all these years later. Pat was so proud to put us in his space. He used to tell his old buddies that he was “putting a diaper store in the corner spot on Main Street.” He got such a kick out of it. He felt like a little whisper of my grandpa here locally. Pat passed away almost 11 years ago. Ruth is still around, though she doesn’t come downtown much anymore. I think she’s around 96 now. Just three and a half weeks ago, I made a quick decision to buy a plane ticket and fly to Illinois the very same day. My grandpa was in the hospital, in the ICU, and not expected to recover from an emergency surgery he’d had a few days prior. I knew I needed to get out there before it was too late. And what a gift that was. I spent that weekend in the hospital with him. My grandma was able to be there with us for a couple of hours the first morning. Bless them—they listened to me (did they really have a choice?) yammer on about childhood memories and all the…nonsense. Truly. Just the way I am in these newsletters? That’s who I am, and that’s who I was as a child too. And honestly—it was wildly validating. At one point, in the middle of my nonsensical storytelling, my grandma said, “Megan…you were always entertaining as a child. And you’re still entertaining.” Hahahaha. That meant so much to me. Especially because my grandma now lives in a memory care facility with a form of dementia. It felt like such a hug to my child-heart that she could recall me as a child and remind me that who I was then is still who I am now. 🥹 This isn’t a recent photo of my grandparents, but this is how they were until their health really began to deteriorate in recent years. I’m so grateful I made it out to see them. My grandpa passed away one week after I arrived. I’ve shared this long diatribe of Colorado Baby’s history because, quite honestly, without my grandparents, I don’t know that the store would exist. The number of families Colorado Baby has impacted over the years—he gets some of that credit under his belt. And I should say this, too: at the end of year three of that loan, I paid my grandparents back in full, interest included. It completely depleted any savings I’d managed to build during those years—but I did it. I stayed true to cash-flowing the business the entire way, and I still do to this day. That $5,000 loan was the only loan I’ve ever taken for the store. Aside from that, Colorado Baby has always been cash-flowed. It feels fitting to share my grandpa’s obituary here. I take obituaries very seriously. I read local obituaries regularly. I see them as a person’s final hoo-rah in this world—their last tangible imprint before they fade like grass. When I read an obituary, I hold it with reverence. That was someone’s life. That was someone’s loved one. Sacred ground. Reading the comments beneath my grandpa’s obituary was sobering. If I have any regrets, it’s that I didn’t spend more time with my grandparents as an adult. Nearly all of my memories with them are from my childhood. But I’m grateful for those memories. My parents made it a point to send my brother and me to visit our grandparents for extended stretches during many summers growing up. (They probably needed a break from us—hahahaha. As a parent now, I get it.) What a treasure that time was. Reading those comments about my grandpa…well, I’m pretty sure I can credit him for my sarcastic humor. Thanks, g-pa. Ha. Man. I’m in tears. I just pulled up the last picture I took with my grandpa in the hospital, and shoooo-eee. Life is weird, huh? This got heavier than I expected. I had plans to share the story above, keep it light, and then dovetail into talking about products because…duh. We’re a store. But at this point, that just feels hollow. I’ve been working on this first draft for about two hours now—just straight typing, minus that 23-minute side quest to find the rock picture (worth it). It’s 1am. I’m ready to head home. And honestly, I think this newsletter just needs to end right here. In a little pocket of deliberately held honor. Thanks, Grandpa, for believing in me. For taking a chance on me. For helping make this dream real. Colorado Baby is partly your legacy, and there are so many families—moms and babies—who have benefitted from it. I’m truly humbled. Til next time, Megan PS — If you scrolled looking for a coupon code, I admire your honesty. But sorry...not in this email. I feel a little too tied to my measly profits after writing this entry. That said, your loyal shopping truly does mean a lot — it’s literally how we’re still here. If you want to shop full price (a hero move), you can do so in store or online. And if you’d like to show you read this newsletter, use the coupon code RAILNOTRAOUL for a solid 0% off.
My grandpa’s name was Raoul — not “rah-ool,” but pronounced “Rail.” And I just learned while sitting with him in the hospital that this is…basically a made-up pronunciation. I truly thought “Rail” was how you pronounced Raoul. Hahahaha. What a gift to learn that this late in the game. I wasn’t sure I’d share these pictures, but they’re the ones that made me cry a few paragraphs ago, so they’re going to live here on the internet forever. While I was in the hospital, I took a picture with my dad and my grandpa. I jokingly told my grandpa to smile, not really thinking he could — but look at that. 😭🥰 PPS — If you’re thinking, “Wow, that was a lot for a store newsletter,” same. 😅 If you like this more personal, story-driven style, you might enjoy my other email series, Just Me. I write about once a week. Less retail, more real life. Very journal-adjacent. Lots of stories. PPPS — I know. Ridiculous number of post-scripts. But it felt strange not to mention any products in a store newsletter, so here we are. My grandpa was a very talented woodworker. I actually just inherited a cedar chest he made for my aunt in 1981 — well before I was alive (okay, fine, only five years before, but I’m clinging to my last scraps of my thirties). He would have loved — and immediately tried to recreate — the handmade wooden rattles we carry from a lovely couple in Oregon. We’ve stocked them for about ten years now. They’re heirloom pieces. Handmade. USA-made. Beautiful craftsmanship. They work as a rattle or teether and last well beyond the baby years as a not annoying noise maker. We’ve had ours for at least nine years, and it’s still in great condition. Check ’em out if you like beautiful wooden pieces. |