Laundry, A Tear-Jerker Surprise

The Testosterones are in charge of folding their own clean clothes. It has proven to be too much work for me to figure out who wears what so I just let it go.

Of course the younger Testosterones rarely truly fold their gear, they do a more of a ‘ball and shove’ move to get the clothes into their drawers. This of course leads to their clothes looking as if they doubled as pajamas.  And that wouldn’t necessarily be a big deal if they would actually use the iron and ironing board. It would appear they don’t mind walking out of the house looking as if no one loves them – no matter how much I warn, suggest, and yell…

All of this to say, once the Testosterones’ clothes come out of the dryer they are no longer my responsibility.

But today was different, my 12½ year-old and I spent some Mommy-Son time while we folded his clothes. And after consideration I think it’ll have to be the last time I do that.  We shared pleasant conversation, laughs, and a few silly dance moves but I think our good moment made it worse for me.

There’s nothing like folding your child’s MENS XL undershirt and having a flashback of you folding his onesies.  The memory made me happy and sad all at once. Happy because my first-born is standing next to taller than me holding a thoughtful and cheerful conversation and sad because my first-born is standing next to taller than me holding a thoughtful and cheerful conversation.

Of course I’ve been watching him grow (he wears a 32x34), mature (he watches the news and uses the word ‘actually’ a lot), and stink from puberty (well…) still the ‘I remember-when-we-brought-you-home-from-the-hospital nostalgia can be sparked by the oddest experiences when you least expect it.

Though I did it a million times, there are three distinct times I remember folding his onesis:

  1. before he was born and we were preparing his nursery
  2. following the first load of laundry after he spit up, peed, and pooped on them
  3. when it was time to pack them away

And now here I am having a onsies moment about to bury my head in the laundry basket and bawl.

So, I’ll take a pass on any future opportunities to share his chores.  My wistful MommyHeart can’t take it.

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