We had one little baby, and yet our laundry has tripled. Yes, I know, babies go through clothes quickly, spiting up and having diaper blow outs -- and that then there are the sheets, and the blankets, and the socks, and the burp cloths, all of which have to be washed at the first sign of dirt, but I just don't see how it all adds up. Yesterday I spent putting away a pile of laundry almost taller than I am, and today I went into the basement to find it growing again.
I started to think that maybe I could make Meg a "free range" baby, and just put papers down for her "leavings," but then I realized I would like to keep custody of her. Then I considered asking Ryan not to wear shirts, but I have heard that song "Don't Stand so Close to Me," and I have seen the girls at Ryan's school. No one could resist that gorgeous hunk of man. Of course, once I came to my senses, I realized I shouldn't make my baby or my husband suffer, so I needed to make the sacrifice, like June Cleaver, Claire Huxtable, or the Tooth Fairy.
So, from now on, no pants.