I was folding laundry today,
Separating all of our clothes into little piles.
A pile for Pete that's a mix of scrubs, jeans, and tee shirts.
A pile for me of mostly boring clothes-
Old Navy tee shirts, jeans, and a pair of maternity yoga pants that are
Just. So. Damn. Comfortable
That I can't give them up.
Some of us aren't as skinny as we were in high school.
Anyway, I was folding PJ's clothes and,
Dying over the cuteness of it all.
I may dress like a very neat, orderly bag lady
But PJ has more clothes then Oprah.
I found a random white tee that is much too tiny for PJ.
I folded it and set it aside.
Then I returned to the business at hand,
Sorting, folding, and stacking school clothes
And it hit me.
Among the long-sleeve monster tees, Union Jack sweaters,
Quicksilver jeans (thanks, Jen!), skull hoodies and
The pile of underpants expressly made for very tiny butts,
There was not a shred of baby clothing left.
The laundry I was up to my neck in was not
Sweet-smelling, Dreft-y baby laundry but
Little boy laundry, laundered with detergent that,
Well, it doesn't smell like Dreft.
(Of course, what does? Dreft smells like Heaven.)
Babies are so fleeting, and I held on for so long
But now I realize that babyhood has been left in the dust
And the real work begins.
I got up and started putting clothes in his drawers and
They take up so much more room.
Although to be fair, PJ has a lot of clothes.
It's a whole new journey for us, and we're up for the challenge
And the wardrobe that comes along with it.