Washing, washing and more washing, a mum’s job is never done, it’s a life lived at a laundry mat, a bottomless pit free of fun.
There’s a mountain of knickers, a hillful of socks, dresses, sheets, towels and a big pile of jocks – will I ever escape this domestic journey from the block?
There’s clothes in the dryer, bibs in the sink, sheets in the machine and tea towels on the line…I think?
There’s a pile on my bed, a basket full in the loungeroom, it’s covering the kitchen bench and it’s all over the bathroom.
Pooey knickers sit, soaking in a bucket, the brown stains remain, I should have just chucked it!
And don’t even get me started about the wrinkled clothes in the wardrobe,
Ironed? You want them ironed?! You’ll wear them crinkled or do it yourself, I propose!
At night I dream of more and more washing, a nightmare full of dirty clothes,
A crumbly white tissue going through the machine and water leaking from the dirty old hose.
In pockets I’ve found treasures to keep for free, if only this crap was worth something on gum tree!
I’ve found bottle caps and coins, pencils and papers, Legos and Barbie shoes and all sorts of capers!
I’ve found sucked on lollies, snails, clips and hair ties, dead bugs, leaves, boogies and things that make me want to cry.
And when it comes to sorting, I’m always behind, I can’t seem to catch up, no matter how hard I try.
There’s always washing to do, it’s just part of the daily grind but I guess that’s life as a mum, as we mourn the life we left behind.
We chose to become parents enduring the good with the bad, within this massive switch, I just wish someone had warned me, that being a mum meant being a full-time laundry bitch.