The Hater really gets brownie points for helping me to fold clothes after they're out of the dryer... because he's gone this weekend, and it never takes me very long to remember how much it sucks to do laundry by myself.
Today's laundry adventure is compounded, as adventures almost always are.
Yesterday I had to break down and buy some official maternity clothes. I had a pair of mat jeans and mat pants and a couple of shirts, but they weren't things that I could wear to work. The dilemma was that my scrubs are not comfortable any more. I'm having to wear them under my baby roll, and even then they saw me in half. This is an unwanted complication in the life of a nurse who is called to be on their feet all day, attending to people who really have been or figuratively been sawed in half.
I think that I spent more on clothes yesterday than I have on clothes over the past two years. Ridiculous... but I've got to have clothes to wear to work. The CDC gets all in a knot when you go to work naked.
The new clothes smelled like store, so they had to be washed. As did everything else for the week. And my special helper is in St Louis on a work trip. This left Zoloft and I to tackle the hamper. Except she runs every time I open the door the laundry room.
Which brings me to bending. I have to bend over the washer to get the wet clothes out and bend to pull clothes out of the dryer. Trouble with that is that my bender hasn't been bending so well this week. Baby is in the way.
Seeing as how I'm only about halfway through the baby incubation adventure, I'm thinking that solo laundry runs in the future will either be moments to induce breakdown -- or an excellent argument as to why I should wait until The Hater is back in town to wash clothes.