Im currently a stay-at-home mum on maternity leave, juggling two lovely kidsones just turned five and the other is still sporting that newborn fragrance.
Let me share a rather comical episode from my life.
It all started with a list my mother-in-law handed me right after I got married. She was very thoroughfilled it with things like my husbands food allergies, which I dutifully note, lest we end up in A&E. That part, I grant, is essential. But right there on the list was: Always iron his underwear, otherwise he gets nasty marks in… certain places.
At first, I thought, How caring! Surely its nice when a mother looks out for her son. I obediently followed everything on her list, which wasnt all too taxingexcept the ironing of underwear. That bit left me bewildered; my mum and I had never so much as glanced at an iron for our smalls.
My eldest was born first, and in the early days, it was all nappies and night feeds. Once he graduated to proper little pants, Iby now fully indoctrinatedadded his underwear to my new Mount Everest of ironing. So now it was endless pants for two, threatening to take over the living room. Yet I pressed on (pun intended), under the watchful guidance that my mother-in-law imparted: The irons heat and steam zap all those nasty germs! She insisted our sons nether regions would be ever so grateful if I kept up the valiant effort.
None of this is really about my mother-in-law, but rather the chaos of adding a new baby to the ranks. Anyone with a newborn and another rambunctious child can surely relate. Suddenly, getting everything done is an Olympic sport, and my to-do list has morphed into a mountain range the size of the Cotswolds.
Yesterday, my husbanda man finely attuned to his own undergarment supplyannounced there were no pants on the shelf, which was code for: My smalls need ironing, love. I was knackered. I suggested he simply grab a pair from the (shock, horror) un-ironed pile.
That evening, as I staggered off to bed, he rang his mum to sadly report that his wife simply didnt have time. There was an air of deep wounded pride. All over a pair of blooming pants.
So, do any of you actually iron your childrens underwear? If so, at what age do you surrender? Andif youre still at ithave you figured out a way to turbo-charge the whole tedious process?
