Last month I spent an epic weekend just washing baby clothes. I then promptly took all those clean and dry adorable little outfits and dumped them on the bed in the nursery. Every now and then I’d poke my head in and look at the pile. Then my brain would melt into a gibbering pile of gray matter, the words NOPE NOPE NOPE repeating over and over in my head until I shut the door again. It was like gazing upon the face of an Eldritch Abomination. No amount of reassuring myself that it’s just a pile of wee baby clothes would help. Because it’s not just clothes. This is more than clothes. This is a disorganized universe, and I will bring order to it, BY THE HAMMER OF THOR.
So there I was today, feeling pretty good about the order I’d brought to chaos.
Newborn stuff was in one pile. 6 months in another. 9 months in a third. Dresses were hung. Socks were paired. Receiving blankets folded and tucked away. A smirk tugged at my lips as I hung the last fuzzy jacket, smug satisfaction that I had, in fact, gotten ahead of the game.
But something nagged at the back of my brain. Something whispered that I shouldn’t be so proud of this tidied terror I’d constructed. Then I walked into the hallway and saw what I’d forgotten.
Two boxes. Unopened. Full of baby clothes.
Oh, the hubris. The fluffy, fluffy hubris.
I am extraordinarily fortunate to have friends who have handed us a wealth of clothes. I am also extraordinarily fortunate to have been able to find a nursery organization system on Woot for $24. I just wish now that I’d bought two.