Laundry with a Baby

Reading Laura Ingalls when I was a child, I was struck by the list of weekly tasks—one task for each day of the week:

"Wash on Monday, 
Iron on Tuesday, 
Mend on Wednesday,
 
Churn on Thursday,
 
Clean on Friday,
 
Bake on Saturday,
 
Rest on Sunday."

These all day chores happened in the days before really awesome inventions like washing machines. They also happen in the all day sense when you have a baby.

Today was washing day. Yes. I broke from the old-fashioned model and made my washday Wednesday. I’m on maternity leave so washing and folding the clothes seemed like a manageable project—it should have been manageable in a couple of hours. And in certain possible worlds manageable might be accurate.

Naturally since it is now the 21^st first century, I added a couple of things to Wednesday washday after all washing shouldn't take all day. 

This was my Wednesday list:

1.    Keep Felicity alive and ticking via multiple feedings and lots of interaction.

2.    Lose extra baby weight by committing to running a mile a day for the next month. This is only day three! And what am I going to do when my husband is in Atlanta?

3.    Make lunch and make dinner, because I am a homemaker now. And heck, I should be able to make lunch and dinner. I only have one baby.

4.    Write on the novel, because novels don’t write themselves.

5.    Do the LAUNDRY!

It’s the laundry where the real hiccup came. (Well and the novel… I’m still waiting for it to began self-creating). The laundry went in easy enough. And figuring out how to transport baby and laundry was solved. Baby inside the laundry basket equals new baby carrier and clean clothing holder. The real problem came with the folding and putting away, because babies like to have attention… lots of attention. They also like to eat…a lot. They also make cute cooing sounds that are impossible to ignore. And it seems irresponsible not to enter into some conversation with the baby. After all she’s learning language from me! So a couple pieces of clothing would be folded in between diaper changes, feedings, and cooking… because if I don’t eat how can Felicity eat?

It’s almost midnight now a few folded clothes still sit on the sofa a few unfolded clothes are still in the basket. Gentle music plays and Felicity and Nathan both sleep. I could put the clothes away now, but tomorrow will do. After all, novels don’t write themselves and I managed to cook dinner, and Felicity’s quiet breath fills the background. I’ll learn eventually how to make wash not a two day project, but the chore of a few hours. Until then, I’m enjoying watching my little girl grow.