You hear all the time about parents complaining of “laundry that never ends.” I never understood what they meant before. When Zoey was born, I just tossed her onesies in with mine and Zach’s clothes. Two loads a week, max, unless I was doing sheets or towels or something. No big deal. No more loads than before. Shortly after her first birthday we switched to cloth diapers and that added two or three loads a week, but it was quick and easy: just dump the bag in and wash. No sorting, no folding. Even when she was a toddler, neat and tidy tyke that she is, we didn’t see an uptick in our weekly laundry loads. I still didn’t feel like my life was overwhelmed by laundry.
Then Eleanor was born.
We did cloth diapers from the very beginning with Eleanor, and suddenly I was washing a load of diapers every other day. LITERALLY every other day. That’s a minimum of four loads of diapers a week. And then there were the clothes. How was it there was suddenly SO MUCH MORE laundry? It’s not like her clothes were that big. And she was the kid who never pooped, so it couldn’t be that. Where was all this laundry coming from???
Then Alden was born.
I kid you not people, I am going to be found dead and decaying under a mountain of laundry. Mark my words. Last week, I washed EIGHT LOADS OF LAUNDRY. EIGHT. We’re not talking skimpy, the-washer-is-only-one-third-full loads either. These are the-washer-is-packed-to-the-max loads of clothes. Still washing cloth diapers at least every other day (could any baby poop more than Alden does? I don’t think it’s possible). And suddenly there are six loads of clothes, towels, who knows what, every week.
How is it possible for one itty, bitty, tiny human to generate so much dirty laundry?