A First
***This is the first of a new series of posts that will highlight parenting firsts in the Littell household. Of course, there is the possibility that this post will be the only one in the series. But onward regardless.***
Last night, I went to the basement to get our laundry—a load of whites—out of the washer. When I opened the lid, I was horrified to see that the entire load of clothes was mixed with a snowdrift of gelatinous slime reminiscent of an exotic breed of translucent fish eggs. The slime was all over and in the clothes; it lay in piles at the bottom of the washer like an overabundance of priceless caviar. It dissolved when I touched it, leaving no soapy or slimy residue, and it fell free from the clothes when I shook them. Nearly gagging, I threw the clothes in the washer, having no other recourse: we were out of quarters, it was 10pm—and Lucia’s blankie (pulled from her sleeping arms under cover of darkness) was in this hideous load. We had to just see it through.
When the dryer cycle finished, I opened the door with trepidation. However, I was surprised and relieved to find that the clothes were, for the most part, free of the gelatinous slime. Not so the lint trap, which was thick with it; and snowdrifts of it were all over the inside of the dryer itself. I carried the clothes upstairs and dispatched Andrew with a roll of paper towels to clean up the hideous mess.
We had no idea what could have caused this. We’d done two loads of darks prior to the whites, so it wasn’t anything wrong with the washer. Only when I began folding the whites did I finally discover what had happened: somehow, someway, one of Greta’s diapers had gotten into the laundry. The gelatinous slime was the absorbent gel from inside the diaper. Whether the diaper was clean or dirty, only God knows, and, with no more quarters and the clocking ticking on towards midnight, only a better parent than I am cares. It was all washed, is my reasoning.
This morning, I took a pair of clean white socks from my drawer and pulled one onto my foot. To my horror, my toes squished into a cold mass of the gelatinous slime that had gathered in the toe of the sock. Surely there is no more disgusting way to begin a day than this.
Washing a diaper with the laundry: a first.
Last night, I went to the basement to get our laundry—a load of whites—out of the washer. When I opened the lid, I was horrified to see that the entire load of clothes was mixed with a snowdrift of gelatinous slime reminiscent of an exotic breed of translucent fish eggs. The slime was all over and in the clothes; it lay in piles at the bottom of the washer like an overabundance of priceless caviar. It dissolved when I touched it, leaving no soapy or slimy residue, and it fell free from the clothes when I shook them. Nearly gagging, I threw the clothes in the washer, having no other recourse: we were out of quarters, it was 10pm—and Lucia’s blankie (pulled from her sleeping arms under cover of darkness) was in this hideous load. We had to just see it through.
When the dryer cycle finished, I opened the door with trepidation. However, I was surprised and relieved to find that the clothes were, for the most part, free of the gelatinous slime. Not so the lint trap, which was thick with it; and snowdrifts of it were all over the inside of the dryer itself. I carried the clothes upstairs and dispatched Andrew with a roll of paper towels to clean up the hideous mess.
We had no idea what could have caused this. We’d done two loads of darks prior to the whites, so it wasn’t anything wrong with the washer. Only when I began folding the whites did I finally discover what had happened: somehow, someway, one of Greta’s diapers had gotten into the laundry. The gelatinous slime was the absorbent gel from inside the diaper. Whether the diaper was clean or dirty, only God knows, and, with no more quarters and the clocking ticking on towards midnight, only a better parent than I am cares. It was all washed, is my reasoning.
This morning, I took a pair of clean white socks from my drawer and pulled one onto my foot. To my horror, my toes squished into a cold mass of the gelatinous slime that had gathered in the toe of the sock. Surely there is no more disgusting way to begin a day than this.
Washing a diaper with the laundry: a first.
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