One Mom Lightens Her Load—Of Laundry

5 years ago

It's such a cliché that I hate even to write about it. But it is my reality, and the reality of millions of parents worldwide.

My life is ruled by The Laundry.

The Laundry is bullshit. If I dare skip a day, it gathers in the darkened hamper and commits unspeakable acts. Dirty socks rub up against filthy shirts and they have nasty laundry sex and spawn little laundry babies. So that when I go to do the wash the next day, I stare at the piles and think, how did this happen? Didn't I just wash that?

baby PJs

Credit Image:Neil Barnwell via Flickr

Chances are, yes, I did just wash that. There are times when I reach the bottom of Katie's dirty clothes basket, only to find the neat stack of clean, folded clothes I asked her to put away earlier. Sometimes, I'll find these little stacks stashed in various parts of her room—pajamas in the bottom of the closet, t-shirts behind her bed, underwear in her bathroom drawer.

Julia does a fantastic job of putting her clothes away. Her problem lies in her constant need for a costume change. Spill a little water on your shirt? Need a new one. PB&J on your pants? Yep, gotta change. It is not unusual for her to change underwear four times a day. Her reasoning? "I think there's a little pee in them." She's been potty-trained for more than two years, and we both know there's nothing there. But saying "There's no pee in your pants" to a four-year-old is kind of like saying, "You don't really have to poop." It's not a chance you want to take.

Henry, on the other hand, has legitimate wardrobe changes. Today alone we went through three shirts (plus pajamas), thanks to a cup of lemonade, a bagel with cream cheese, and what may or may not have been a dingleberry off the dog's ass. I didn't inspect it too closely.

I think back to those days before Katie was born, when I shared the literal load of laundry with the Husband. Few enough clothes that we did wash only once a week. I remember washing all the tiny clothes in anticipation of her arrival. How I folded the wee onesies and giggled over the tiny socks and used the special soap and the delicate cycle.

How could I have known what a monster it would become? That one day the sight of yet another basketful of tiny clothes would bring tears to my eyes.

Fuck.It.All. I sigh. The Laundry!

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