I recently realized that I do approximately 2-3 loads of laundry EACH day. Now even including the MustWashAllClothesEachTimeHeWearsThem
8 month old, that is a whole more laundry than 3 people warrant. I am obsessed.
I have made it my cottage industry to never have anything in the laundry bins. Sheets, towels, kitchen tea towels, baby bibs, bathroom rugs ... all get such a regular rotation that my new shiny Bosch may be getting tired. Ever since the discovery of the multi-wash setting -- it all gets thrown in as one. Often.
I have decided somewhere in my addled brain that if I KEEP UP I will Remain In Control.
Keep up with laundry. Keep up with supplies in the house. Keep up with Facebook
. And, well, that is all about I can keep up with.
Where did I get this idea?
I have a baby.
So very many things are now out of my control. He is dictating so many of my day's outputs.
The baby nap has become the central defining core of my days. Must. Get. Him. To. Sleep. 2 Naps. At All Costs. I contort to shush him and play the many many pre
sleep games we have somehow adopted for hours, I walk endlessly in all manner of weather and mood in quiet (dare not a CAR drive by and wake the babe) parts of the park. I wind down the baby wolverine from warp speed (MUST CLIMB MUST STAND MUST MUST...) to mmmmmmmm
, nursing ... to zzzzzzzzz
It is freaking hard work. And I find I get crazy annoyed if all my best efforts, well, fail. (I guess We WON'T BE NAPPING THEN!)
I am a crazy person.
I currently sleep on 2 inches of my bed while my co-sleeping child lies spread eagle and husband gets 3 inches. (Note, our summer project is Reclaim The Bed: a much hyped and no action item to do so far...)
I haven't dried my hair with an actual hair dryer in about (no lie) 5 months.
I am woefully aware of all the dangers in our flat that we have yet to conquer -- so many edges and corners and finger snapping traps and climbable and pull able things. I try to be vigilant that he is able to be a free range kid and also a safe one.
This means I am on my hands and knees too.
I got a (thank you Jesus) massage today and the therapist agreed that I am indeed "broken".
I need some balance. I need to chill out about the naps and the laundry. I need to be OK with more chaos. I need to stop trying to recreate what worked and pay attention to what's happening. My boy is growing and growing fast. Nearly walking for chissake
I can see how easy it would be to make my life's work about worrying the smallest bits to death. I could do nothing but keep the house tidy, laundry clean and our 3 square meals a day hot and ready. But man what would I be missing. And how empty would my life be at the end of it? Things will always get dirty again. Meals are gobbled up and gone.
I want to be a provider of safety and cuddles and giggles. And I want my boy to remember my smile, not my furrowed brow and busy hands.
Do I dare let the laundry pile up? What happens when I kill the control freak within? When I let go will it all crumble? Or is that when space to sweat and recognize the big stuff comes in?