Load by load, stain by stain, men are starting to stake claim in the uncharted territory of laundry, either their own or their families. We applaud you. So this month, we pay tribute to all the laundry loving men out there and have invited Bryan Parys, contributor to The Good Men Project, to share his thoughts on the subject.

I find that if I do a half-squat, I can hold the squirt bottle between my knee and right hand, my thumb bent unnaturally, but securely on the trigger. From there, I’m able to hold my newborn son’s poopy onesie over the toilet with my left hand, and pump it with water until my thumb cramps. Still, that mustardy waste clings, and I wonder why we decided to stay at this laundry-less apartment after Alfie was born. Am I crazy to think that having a real laundry room would make me feel like a stable parent? 

Our laundering plans for our son were noble in the “we’re-going-pioneering way.” Prior to the birth, we’d resolved to follow our eco-loving hearts and register for cloth diapers. You’d think this would be the end of the decision-making process, what with cloth diapers not being more than a rectangular piece of thick cotton. But, it was more like:

“Should we do the pre-folds?” Natalie asked, navigating between a dozen cloth diapering websites and forums.

“They come pre-folded?”

“Well, no. These are the ones you have to fold yourself.”

“Oh.”

“But! There are these ones that you don’t fold, and just use inserts. But you have to buy a ton of the covers and inserts. Oh! And then there are these all-in-ones! They’re the most expensive, but they act pretty much like a disposable. Just chuck them in the laundry!”

Laundry. We remembered the spare room, which, due to the massive clothes piles, has been nicknamed “The Mess Room” (the moniker would be even more apt after Alfie came along). The growing mound looked as if our apartment was throwing up at our lack-of-laundromat visits.

As if we’d never graduated from college, we still plan our laundry days around visits to our parents’ houses, now with the addition of a few bags of still-soaked onesies. I bask in their amenities, knowing that they will have enough Clorox® cleaning products to undo our weeks’ worth of staining. I move clothes from washer to dryer, dryer to folding table, table to mesh bag. I am a one-act play, titled “An Almost Grown-Up,” and the term “father” fits me like my favorite v-neck. And for a few minutes, I feel like we’ve moved out of The Mess Room.

Read more at “Men and Laundry: The Stories” at The Good Men Project