Size Doesn't Matter

When I was a little girl I was smart enough to determine that there would be mountains of laundry in my future.  I was actively aware of the fact that my mom did a lot of laundry and that when I had a family of my own, that would become my fate.  I just never thought it would be so soon.

Since we've been married, I've been the primary laundry-doer.  This is something I'm okay with.  I'm not perfect at it (re: I've been known to leave a load in the dryer for longer than may be necessary, procrastinating the inevitable: folding) but I've gotten it done.  With just Lewis and me, I've been able to get by doing two, maybe three loads a week.  No biggie.

I figured that after Jack was born my laundry would increase, but not that much.  I mean he's little, right?  How much laundry could he produce?

Hoo boy.

It's my bad, really.  I forgot to factor in burp cloths that he spits up on, clothes of his he's peed/pooped on, clothes of mine he's peed/pooped on (I typically don't wait to launder those), extra layers to keep him warm, teeny socks and mittens that get stuck in the washer, towels we lay out on the floor to change his diaper on in the middle of the night when we're too lazy to walk down the hall to his changing table that he subsequently pees/poops on, clothes that I've leaked through because my child likes to eat a lot and I therefore produce a lot... etc.

Not to mention the fact that now that his umbilical cord has come all the way off, we're starting him on cloth diapers that I will now have to launder as well.

MOUNTAINS I SAY!

Today's haul.  Please not that my darling spouse and adorable child are sleeping on some of it and there's even more on the other side of the basket.

In conclusion, I am really glad we did not have Jack when we were living at Wymount and subject to a coin operated laundromat.  How people with kids there can stand it, I know not.