Monday I did five loads of laundry. That caught me up. When I mentioned this to my sister, mother of three, she commented, “So that means you’re caught up until tomorrow, right?”
Um, yeah. Of course. There’ll be at least two more loads by tomorrow.
I didn’t do those two loads yesterday. Today, I’ve done four loads. I have one left. Apparently that’s not normal. It hadn’t occurred to me. Then, of course, I started thinking. Pretty sure I was more content before I started thinking. Less than 15 laundry loads a week? I cannot imagine.
But then I looked at the baby… Charlotte was laying on the floor. She’d gagged herself with a toy and lost her toast. Everywhere. Pity party over… throw the baby in the tub, and her pj’s in the laundry. And know I wouldn’t have it any other way. (Ok, I could have done without the regurgitated toast. But it comes with the territory.)