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Tonight I was folding a friggin' huge pile of baby laundry, contentedly. The incongruity of it did not escape me. Why, if folding the fresh, little girl duds was actually a pleasant experience, did I let the laundry pile up to such an extent that my daughter had not one single pajama, shirt, pant, onesie, snow suit, sock or car seat cover left to her name? Procrastination, thy name is Binky. My husband thinks it's laziness, but I say, "Why do the wash today when you've still got one perfectly good pair of underwear left for tomorrow?"

So I was piling one adorable sleeper on top of another and thinking how the size 6-9 month clothing had seemed so huge when I was the pregnant center-of-attention spewing tissue paper and gift bags all over my mom's back porch at my baby shower. Anything larger than "newborn" blew my mind. I didn't even bother trying to fathom the idea of my child fitting into such attire, that's how foreign the concept was to me. "Why the hell would anyone buy something this big?" I thought to my dumb-ass self. God. What an idiot.

8 months wiser, I am jaded enough for a lifetime. It's all true. Time goes by so fast. I can't believe how big she's gotten. It seems like just yesterday. If I am this nostalgic while folding my 8 month old's sleep sacks, I am going to be a sniveling cascade of mucous and salt the day I first drop her off at pre-school. My husband thinks it's a mood disorder, but it snot.

Anyway, I'm there folding these hitherto humongous outfits and thinking about how, soon enough, it will be time to put them in the attic until child number two comes along. The plan is to wait at a least year to even think about getting that whole process started, but now that Father Time and I are best buds, I realize that's no time at all. I find a 3-6 month onesie and put it aside. "I guess we'll have to put this away for the next one," I say to my husband.

"The next one?" he looks up in alarm from the Sudoku he's working on. "You mean there are more coming?"

I looked down at him with eyebrows that arched up, pushing my glasses lower on my nose. "Yes," I say.

"Oh." He is sly, like a fox. "If we move, do you think they'll find us?"


Blogger Michelle :) said...

OK....so I hadn't read your blog in awhile...and girl, I have been missing out!! This site truly makes me smile!! I love it!!

Hope all is well with you!!

1:10 AM  
Blogger Carrie said...

I was shopping for Little P's Easter dress yesterday and was looking at the newborn clothes thinking how tiny they were. All I was thinking about was when could we have #2.

10:04 AM  
Blogger Jene said...

um, isn't one enough? and you still owe chris at least half a year of peace for your broken dog-child agreement. :)

10:15 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

My wife won't let go of the whole #2 child right now...

I'm still trying to figure out #1.

- Jon
- Daddy Detective
- www.daddydetective.com

9:35 AM  
Blogger Pattie said...

That is such a cute story. Made me smile...

2:17 PM  
Anonymous Kate said...

I feel the same way, except 6-9 months is long gone, we are already in 18 or 24 months AND she's learning to walk which is simultaneously amazing, frightening and making me nostalgic for when she was tiny and helpless. Sigh, they grow too fast!

8:50 PM  
Blogger lynsalyns said...

You write so beautifully it makes me jealous. I've saved every tiny piece of clothing and my husband thinks I'm nuts. And he wants two more!

Seriously, your blog is wonderful. Post soon!

9:43 AM  

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