Coming off the Christmas Holiday, I really enjoyed all the time we spent with family and friends. We got back home and waiting for me was mountain of clothes waiting to be manipulated somehow. Washed, Dried, Folded, or put away. One of the four or all of the above. I often feel intimated and overwhelmed by sheer quantity of clothes I have to wash. The kicker is, I only have to wash for two people. I feel like this daunting task is laughing and poking fun at me as a wife, clearly mocking my failed attempts at climbing the cotton-multi colored mountain.
So during our Christmas visit several people inquired about when my husband and I would have children. Then they will pose their question to the both of us, while smugly looking in my direction as if babies come from a magic slot machine, like he has put in quarter and the world is waiting on me to pull the lever…yes we want to have children one day, but in the back of mind I can’t help but think about the mountain of daily chores I neglect during the week because I can. How I have no one to answer to but myself. If I can barely keep up for the two of us, how in the world can we raise a family? Its terrifying and stifling, so the thought that laundry only takes a day is a joke to me. Its never ending battle, a war with no end in sight. A task that will only get bigger with time.