Laundry

Since Mother's Day was this past weekend, I've had thoughts swarming in my head about my path into motherhood.  And my path all starts with laundry.  Ironically, today is laundry day at our house and when I woke up this morning, I thought, "I hate laundry day."  But my second thought, the thought that always comes after I think about my dislike of washing and folding clothes, was "No, I love laundry day."

Back in 2007 we were living in Provo with a bunch of other newlyweds in a teeny tiny apartment near the cemetery.  I don't remember the exact size, but I really think our first apartment could fit inside our master suite.  We had a little living room/kitchen area, a single sink that sat out in the hall, a small bathroom that fit the shower and toilet, and a bedroom.  Because of its size, most of the families in our complex didn't have children--there really wasn't room for a baby and all the stuff that goes along with a baby.  But there were a few brave couples that brought brand new babies home from the hospital before moving out at the end of their lease to something bigger.

The complex also had a shared laundry room with coin operated machines to wash and dry with.  Every week I trekked down a flight of stairs (thankfully just one) with an overflowing laundry basket.  My typical goal was to get it done early Saturday morning so I wouldn't have to fight for machines and the room would be empty as I loaded and unloaded underwear, but sometimes there was company and sometimes my organized plan just didn't happen.  And I'm glad it didn't.  Because that's where I saw a load sitting on the counter full of someone else's dried clothes.  Tossed in between the normal pants and shirts (no underwear that I remember) were some itty bitty socks.

And looking at those socks made me think "I wish we had some little socks in our loads."  And from there, everything changed.

Today, I'm washing four loads of clothes.  I have washed, dried, and folded Ninjago underwear, Minnie Mouse underwear, a pretty pink leotard, and onesies.  I have paired soccer socks, pink socks, striped socks, and of course have three or four single socks that I have no clue where their match is.  And inevitably, Penny will pee her pants just as I'm putting the last load into the dryer, but most weeks I still stop and feel warm and squishy for a minute as I load, unload, and fold all the little clothes (that seem to be getting bigger and bigger) that have crept their way into our laundry life.

And I'm so grateful.