I’ll Tumble For You
Warning to the pregnant: Contents of bump gives not one shit how, or even if, you fold their clothes. Also, your thighs will not stay like this forever.
I was on Facebook recently, moaning about how little time I have to do anything except moan on Facebook, and someone reminded me that in the weeks before May Blossom was born, I had so little to do that I watched a YouTube video on how to fold a fitted sheet properly. Not only that, but I then folded my fitted sheets properly for the first time ever.
For me, the end of my pregnancy was all about folding stuff. Between all the hand-me-downs I was receiving from friends and relatives, I had baby clothes coming out my ears, and while newborn clothes are adorable to look at and make you leak milk and whatever, they are fiendishly difficult to fold. I think it’s because they are too small.
Then there was the issue of how to arrange them in the drawers. I had gone out and been totally seen coming by an antique vendor, and thus was the proud (like a galleon in so many ways) owner of a handsome set of Kauri pine drawers. Once my younger brother and a neighbour’s child had moved them from the car to the baby’s room, only dropping them a few times, I was ready to fill them full of neatly not folded clothes. But I couldn’t figure out how.
My own drawers, in case you are wondering, are arranged by type of clothing. I have a drawer of underwear, a drawer of socks and tights, a drawer of shirts and a drawer of pants and shorts. Skirts and dresses are hung up. End of story. That is the arrangement and I adhere to it a goodly portion (approx. 5%) of the time.
But babies’s wardrobes are weird. They wear long-sleeved leotardy things, short-sleeved leotardy things, long-sleeved, long-legged leotardy things, short-sleeved long-legged leotardy things, short-sleeved shirts, long-sleeved shirts, bloomers, pants, leggings, tights, footless tights, shorts, dresses, skirts … the list is endless. I got onto Google to see how other people dealt with this problem. I just got more muddled. Eventually Other Jess came over and put away the clothes for me. Because she is a great and true friend, she both reassured me it would be ok if the system she put in place didn’t last, and refrained from calling me a hysterical moron to my face.
Being now a wise and experienced mother (I’ve been at this for over a year you know), I can look back at my poor anxious self and laugh patronisingly. You silly girl, I think. Why weren’t you at the cinema? Why weren’t you reading books with page numbers?
I blame H. If he hadn’t waited until last weekend to think up the most brilliant storage solution in the history of the world, I wouldn’t have had that problem and I could have been reading magazines while having my toenails painted, like a normal post-due pregnant woman.
The storage solution is this: compost tumbler. Why these are used only in the garden is beyond me. They would make perfect toy storage. You’d chuck all the toys in the house into one, and every day rotate it and see what sifted to the top. You would thus avoid the problem of several boxes of toys, only the top layer of which ever gets played with.
A compost tumbler makes the perfect clothes storage too: all clothes in, give it a turn, and whatever comes out is your outfit for the day. H is a genius. There are no lengths he will not go to in order to ensure we never have to go back to Ikea.