Why Did I Do That?

I remember walking into my son's room last night, intending to check on him as I do every few hours. But something inside me snapped when I saw the pile of dirty laundry spilling out from under his bed. It wasn't just the sight of it that bothered me, it was the smell. So much so that for a moment, I considered throwing some socks into my own basket to even things out, but I didn't do that. Instead, as if possessed by an ancient urge, I found myself picking up each piece of clothing and folding them neatly, placing them away in his drawers with military precision. My husband calls it ‘OCD,’ but I prefer the term 'control freak.' The funny thing is, once everything was put away, I felt oddly satisfied, like some internal struggle had been resolved by this act of tidiness.