Save the Onesie!

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I hate laundry. To me, it is the most depressing chore. You spend hours sorting, pretreating, lugging, washing, drying, folding, and putting clothes away only to have the hamper full again. It's like dark magic. And with a baby, the amount of laundry has doubled. Maybe tripled. So it's little wonder that one of the new cries in the house is, “Save the onesie!” as we carry a stinky or spitting up baby to the changing table or bathroom. While it rarely works, I'm sure it's very entertaining to see one of us spring from our seats, baby held out like a bomb, running into another room, trying to somehow keep whatever is coming out from getting all over Baby M's outfit. If we fail, but only mildly, out comes an arsenal of cleaning products – water, shout, oxiclean, washcloths – to try to remove the offending material. If we fail colossally, then into the hamper it goes and a new outfit comes out, only to repeat the cycle an hour later. Sigh.

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