Laundry has always been my least hated chore. Probably because ultimately the machine does all the work, maybe it’s the folding – fluffing hot sheets and towels and folding them into creased submission. However, never in all my days has laundry been such a joy than when I started sorting through my unborn son’s tiny garments and soft blankets and washing them in preparation of his arrival.
It was when I was standing in front of his bassinet folding up little onsies with lions and monkeys stitched on the front that it hit me – I have a son. People keep saying, “When he arrives” and “When he gets here”, but for me….he’s already here. He’s been here since that day in January when I saw two lines appear on a pee stick. It’s an amazing thing – the little kicks and rumbles that actually makes you grateful for your menstrual cycle and anything else that brought you to this place of holding a person before the world has a chance to touch them.
His things are all here. His tiny shoes and socks, his cradle and car seat and all the little things you need to keep baby clean, fed and well rested. He’s got a list of people ready to love him. One nervous father and one very anxious mommy.
Yea…laundry never felt so good.